High Desert Read online

  The clerk eyed him with the same veiled hostility he had sensed in the barber.

  “She ain’t here, mister. Out, I reckon.”

  Morgan wheeled out of the lobby. He built a smoke as he moved along the walk to the corner, stopped in front of the Stockman’s Bank and, scratching a match across its front, lighted his cigarette. He stood there, considering, tobacco smoke a shifting shape in front of his face. As long as Blazer and Royce were in town, they were as dangerous as a pair of rattlesnakes in a man’s bed.

  Decision made, Morgan slanted across the intersection to the store, his gaze fixed on the front of the Elite. He had to kill Blazer and Royce or drive them out of the valley. Both claimed to be settlers, and for that reason either was capable of doing irreparable damage when the contract holders arrived in Irish Bend.

  It wasn’t until Morgan reached the post office that he saw the newly lettered sign hanging in front of what had been an empty building east of the Elite.

  Office of Cascade and Paradise Land Company

  He grinned as he turned into Purdy’s office. Gardner, he thought, was a good man to be running things.

  Purdy blinked behind his spectacles. Then he rose and gravely held out his hand.

  “Greetings from a mortal to one in the other world. I understand you’re dead, with Flint’s bullet in you.”

  “It’s a lie. The slug went on through.”

  Purdy laughed and motioned to a chair. “Sit down, Morgan. I’m glad to see you.”

  Morgan shook his head. “I’ve got business in the Elite. I hear Royce and Blazer are all set for me.”

  “They’ve done some wild talking,” Purdy admitted.

  “I’m giving those two a chance to show how much is wind, which same brings up another point. Gardner says we’ll have some toughs in town when the crowd gets in. Are you going to handle them?” It was a blunt question, brutally put. Purdy looked down at his star, holding his answer for a moment. He was afraid. Morgan saw that in the sudden squeeze that fear put upon his features, but instinct did not force a quick refusal from him. His pride, then, was not dead, and Morgan knew his confidence had not been wasted.

  “I’ll try,” Purdy said at last.

  “Good.” Morgan nodded as if there had never been any doubt. He lifted his gun, checked it, and slid it back into leather. “Come on over to the Elite. Might as well see the fun.”

  Purdy hesitated, then turned to his desk. Picking up an ancient Navy Colt, he slipped it into his waistband.

  “I wouldn’t want to miss it,” he said.

  XVI

  Doc Velie was coming out of the company office as Morgan and Purdy angled across the dust strip toward the Elite. He stared in the way of a man who sees something unreal take the cloak of reality. Then he ducked inside.

  They reached the walk, crossed it. “I just want a fair fight,” Morgan said. “See that I get it.” He put a shoulder against the batwings and pushed through, hand on gun butt.

  Except for the droopy-mouthed barman, the place was empty, but hoof thunder sounded from the alley and faded as distance grew.

  “They’re not here,” Purdy said, as if this evident fact was something he had hoped for but had not expected.

  Morgan moved directly to the bar. “Where’s Royce and Blazer?”

  The barman laid down his towel. “Don’t know. They went out the back door when you two left Purdy’s office. Reckon they’ve made some dust by now.”

  “I’ve been in town two hours,” Morgan said. “How come they got in such a hurry all of a sudden?”

  “They knowed you was here,” the barman said. “They aimed to gun you down the minute you showed your nose in the door, but they got another notion when they saw Purdy. Funny how a star can change a fellow’s mind.”

  Morgan grinned at the astounded Purdy. The pale-eyed man had discovered something new concerning the dignity of a lawman’s badge.

  “We’d better have a drink on that, Abel,” Morgan said. “I’m a little put out. I figured it was me that had them hombres worried.”

  “You did.” The barman set a bottle and glasses on the mahogany. “That was why they wasn’t takin’ any chances on you, but they didn’t figger on the law, so they got spooked when they saw Purdy.”

  Morgan took his drink and jingled a coin on the bar. “See you later, Abel,” he said, and left the saloon.

  The building that housed the company’s office had been a store, but the owner had lost an argument to Broad Clancy and left the valley. It had been filled with broken chairs and boxes, a long counter, dirt, and innumerable cobwebs.

  Morgan paused in the doorway, amazed by what he saw. The place now was clean, the débris cleared out, and the smell of fresh paint lingered in the air. There were several desks in the front of the room behind a railing that marked a line of demarcation between clerical workers and a waiting room for visitors. Two small office rooms had been built in the back, one marked Grant Gardner, the other Murdo Morgan.

  Gardner saw Morgan and bustled out of his office.

  “Been looking for you. I wanted you to see what we’ve done.”

  “Looks fine,” Morgan stated. “Never thought I’d have my name on an office door.”

  Gardner flushed with evident pleasure. “This is part of my contribution to a worthwhile endeavor, Morgan. I’m no good on the fighting end, but I know this part of the business.” He pointed to rows of filing cabinets along the wall. “Duplicate copies of the contracts that have been sold. My office crew will be in from Alturas tomorrow. Lot of work yet for all of us. I want you to go over a map of the road grant with me. We’ll mark off the tracts according to the size you want them sold. All this bookkeeping and the cost of taking care of our customers and the traveling expenses for those who represent twenty or more contracts will cut into your profit, but in the long run it will pay.”

  Gardner swung his hand around the room. “Show stuff, maybe, but it impresses folks. A lot of them will want to come in and talk, and we’ll have to take time off. If we can keep them in good humor and hold their confidence, the drawing will go off like clockwork.” He opened the door into Morgan’s office. “How do you like that?”

  A new swivel chair, roll-top desk, brass spittoon on the floor, three chairs. Morgan chuckled and, sitting down at his desk, ran his fingertips across the varnished wood.

  “Well,” he whispered, “I’ll be hanged.”

  Gardner began fishing for a cigar. “A few more things to tell you,” he said casually. “This valley is far superior to what I had expected to see. Your friend, Jim Carrick, tells me that the soil is good and the water is here if reservoirs are built to hold it. I intend to do that if the settlers are the solid citizens my salesmen say they are. Back there, they’ve been blowed out, dried out, burned out, and starved out. They’re looking for a place where there is water, good soil, and a moderate climate.”

  Morgan leaned back in his chair, boots on the desk top. “We’ve got those things,” he said, and waited.

  Gardner bit off the end of his cigar and dug into his pockets for a match.

  “Folks like a show,” he commented. “We’re selling land, and after that I’ll sell them water. I’ve got a surveying crew in the hills now. We’ve got to live with them, so we want to start off right. The thing we’ve got to do is avoid letting them get any idea that the drawing is crooked. Knowing Ed Cole, I’m sure he’ll work on that end.”

  Gardner found a match, struck it, and fired his cigar. Still Morgan held his silence, knowing from Gardner’s round-about approach that there was more to come.

  “I’ve been pounding my brain until I got the right idea.” Gardner blew out a long smoke plume. “Pretty girls always appeal to a crowd of men, so I want you to line up two pretty girls to help with the drawing.”

  This was what Gardner had been working up to. Morgan took his feet of
f the desk and stood up. Jewell Clancy and Peg Royce were the only pretty girls in the valley as far as he knew, and he couldn’t ask either one of them.

  “I won’t do it,” Morgan said angrily. “Peg’s dad is Pete Royce, and Jewell’s is Broad Clancy. You know how both of them stand.”

  Gardner waved his cigar at Morgan. “That’s the reason we want them. The settlers can’t accuse us of being crooked with those girls doing the drawing.”

  “I won’t do it!” Morgan said again, hotly. “You’re crazy to think I would.”

  Gardner’s chubby face reddened. “I was crazy to contract with the Sneed boys to butcher wild hogs so we’d have pork for our customers. I was crazy to ride out to Broad Clancy’s camp and ask him for beef. I suppose I was crazy to come up here at all!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “We contracted to furnish water, fresh meat, and horse feed during the drawing and for a week before to those who got here early. I heard through this man, Royce, that there were wild hogs in the tules. He said he butchered them all the time, so I got the Sneed boys to butcher enough to keep us in fresh meat until we get Clancy’s beef to the settlers.”

  “You asked Broad Clancy to furnish us with fresh meat?” Morgan demanded.

  “Why not?”

  “Nothing, except it don’t make sense for him to do it. I can’t understand why he didn’t pull a gun on you when you went up there.”

  “He was very courteous,” Gardner said stiffly. “Abel Purdy went with me. He introduced us, and the instant I told Clancy what I wanted, he said he’d sell us all we needed. I told him we’d pay top price and save him a drive to the railhead.”

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Morgan said stubbornly. “You don’t know Clancy. He was ornery before Rip was killed. He’ll be twice as bad now.”

  “You’ve got him wrong,” Gardner muttered. “He sees the handwriting on the wall, and he’s smart enough to read it.”

  Morgan let it go at that, but he knew Clancy was not a man to look for handwriting on the wall. He would use his beef as a lethal weapon to wreck the land sale, and there was no way to counter his move unless Morgan could find out what his plan was.

  Gardner fidgeted at the door, puffing fiercely on his cigar and eyeing Morgan.

  “I didn’t think you’d get your neck bowed over asking those girls to help,” he finally said. “We’ve got to figure every corner, and it’s my guess trouble will pop in a few days. I’ve already told the girls you’d ask them.”

  So, he was committed. Morgan said: “All right.” Then he sat down at his desk again, feet cocked in front of him.

  He didn’t notice when Gardner left. Resentment died in him. Gardner was a good man, with savvy for his part of the business, the kind of savvy that Morgan didn’t have, but Gardner lacked the understanding Morgan had about men like Broad Clancy. Trouble would pop all right, and probably over Turkey Track beef.

  Morgan was still at his desk when the rumble of a heavily loaded wagon brought him to the street door. Jim Carrick was bringing in another load of hay. Buck was lying on his back behind him with his hat pulled over his face.

  Morgan hesitated, knowing this was something that had to be done. He should have ridden out to Carrick’s place. Now that Jim was in town, he had to see him. He went back for his hat, and when he reached the street, Carrick had turned at the intersection and pulled in behind the Silver Spur Saloon.

  The wagon was stopped beside a half-formed stack when Morgan reached it. “Howdy, Jim!” he called.

  Carrick stepped away from the load, saw who it was, and let out a great squall.

  “Well, cuss me if it ain’t Murdo! Where you been, boy?”

  Morgan gripped the farmer’s hard hand. His fear had been groundless. Jim Carrick held no bitterness toward him.

  “Getting over a bullet hole Flint gave me,” he said.

  “Doc said you’d been shot, but I couldn’t keep from thinkin’ you’d be back, so I went ahead on this hay deal. Gardner’s took over and that’s what he said to do.”

  “That’s right.” Morgan swung a hand toward the finished stacks. “That’s a lot of hay. I don’t have any idea if we’ll use all of it.”

  “Better to have it on hand. Tried to buy some of Royce’s old hay, but he wouldn’t let it go.”

  “We’ll have enough. Some of them will come by stage or horseback. Soon as the drawing is over, the majority of them will scatter and figure on coming back in the spring.”

  “Buck’s up on the load,” Carrick said, as if suddenly remembering. “Buck, Murdo’s here.”

  Young Carrick shoved his face into view, dislike stamped upon it.

  “Yeah, I heard him. Kept hopin’ you’d cashed in, Morgan,”

  Jim’s eyes hardened. “You’re too old and too big to have to lick, but I’ll do it if I hear any more of that out of you.”

  Buck grunted an oath and drew back.

  “Let it go,” Morgan murmured. “He’s still in love.”

  “Don’t make no difference,” Carrick said bitterly. “He’s been seein’ that Royce girl. She came over a time or two after you left. Soon as he could stay in a saddle he rode over there, but she won’t marry him.”

  “About Tom.” Morgan dug a boot toe into the dirt. “I was there when he was killed. Maybe there was some way I could have....”

  “None of that talk,” Carrick said sharply. “Doc told me how it was. I talked to the Clancy girl, too. Tom just had to keep lookin’ for trouble till he found it. Headed for town soon as he got back the day you left. Allowed there’d be fightin’ and he was goin’ to side you.”

  “If I’d known that, I’d have talked to him,” Morgan said. “Maybe he’d have stayed in town.”

  “No sense blamin’ yourself. You plugged Flint and got yourself shot up to boot. What’s done is done. I ain’t seen old Broad since it happened, but they tell me he’s about loco. Keep your eyes on him, son.” Carrick paused, his gaze on somebody behind Morgan. He muttered: “There she is.”

  “Murdo, I heard you were back!”

  It was Peg Royce, panting from her run, her dark eyes afire with pleasure. Morgan started to say something, but didn’t, for Peg threw her arms around his neck and pulled his lips down to hers.

  There was no reserve about her, no holding back, no subterfuge. She had never made any secret of her want of him, and now she told the world. Even then, with the sweet taste of her lips upon his, with the heat of her kiss burning through him, the thought of Jewell Clancy was a quick repelling force in his mind.

  “All right!” Buck Carrick slid off the load to the ground.

  Peg stepped away from Morgan, composed and unabashed.

  “Hello, Buck. I told you the bullet hadn’t been molded that could kill him,” she said.

  “I wish it’d been me instead of Flint that had that chance.” Buck took another step toward Morgan, his great shoulders hunched, his fists balled in front of him, his handsome face turned ugly by the fury of his rage. “I’m goin’ to bust you, Morgan! If I had a gun, I’d kill you!”

  Indecision gripped Morgan. He stepped back, thinking of Tom Carrick, of Jim, and how much he owed him, and knew he couldn’t fight Buck.

  “Don’t try it,” he said. “I’ve got nothing to fight you for.”

  Buck’s laugh was a taunting slap. “I sure have got somethin’ to fight you for.”

  “Which same don’t make a girl love you,” Morgan said.

  He went back another step, heard Peg cry: “Don’t Buck! If you love me, don’t!”

  But Buck didn’t stop. Weeks of smoldering hate exploded in him now, taking him beyond the edge of reason.

  “You was sweet on her all the time!” Buck bawled. “I ain’t been fooled a little bit. She’d’ve married me this summer if it hadn’t been for you. Now I’m goin’ to fix that mug
of yours so she won’t do no more kissin’ on it!”

  One of Buck’s great fists swung out. He had strength. Nothing more, and Morgan knew he could cut him down with half a dozen driving blows. Still he couldn’t do it. He ducked the fist and retreated, still searching for something that would stop the boy. Peg was at Buck’s side, beating at him with her fists.

  “He doesn’t want to fight you, you fool!” she was crying. “I’d never marry you! I never would have!”

  But it was Jim Carrick, letting it play out this far, who drove sense into his boy. Gripping his pitchfork, the tines shining in the sunlight, he brought it forward in a quick jab, slashing Buck in the rump.

  Buck let out a howl of pain and, throwing his shoulders back in an involuntary motion, grabbed his seat.

  “Get back on that load,” Jim said hoarsely. “If I have to do that again, you’ll be eatin’ off a high shelf for the rest of the summer.”

  Buck sidled back toward the wagon, the fight gone out of him. But the bitterness was still there, a hatred that would fester with time until he became a madman capable of killing. Without a word, he climbed back on the load.

  Peg gripped Morgan’s arm. “I want to talk to you,” she whispered.

  Nodding at Jim Carrick, Morgan turned away, deeply troubled. He respected and liked Carrick as he had respected and liked few men. He would be largely indebted to him for whatever success he had with the land sale, but life was dealing off the bottom of the deck. First, he had been indirectly to blame for Tom’s death. Now Buck was working himself into a killing frenzy.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” Peg said hurriedly. “Every time I came to town I asked Gardner. Why didn’t you let me know?”

  “I didn’t think you’d worry. Doc thought it was better if nobody knew.”

  “You knew I’d worry,” she said hotly. Then bitterness touched her face. “You were right. Pete Royce is my father. I couldn’t be trusted.”