Range Of Golden Hoofs Page 13

  Having made an agreement with Ramon, having drawn up a cunning contract for Ramon’s signature and locked it in his office safe, Delaney proceeded with his scheme. It was characteristic of the man that he would not take chances unless necessary. There were tools that he could use, and Delaney used them. It was natural, too, that when the tool had been used, or when it became dangerous to him, Delaney should discard or destroy it. While Dan Shea drove five thousand ewes north toward the Colorado market George Delaney sat in his office in Bendición or strolled about the plaza of the little town, apparently inactive, apparently harmless, but actually as dangerous as a coiled rattlesnake. Almost three months from the day of Dan’s departure Delaney sat behind his desk, basking in the early winter sun. A knock upon his door aroused him and, rising, he strode across the office to answer the summons. When he opened the door and saw his visitor he stepped back.

  “Come in, Tom,” he welcomed.

  A bearded man, heavy bodied, entered the office and closed the door. Delaney led the way to his desk.

  “You sent word out you wanted to see me,” Tom Warms announced, ridding himself of heavy coat and cap. “What’s on your mind, Delaney?”

  Delaney sat down, tipping back in his chair. Tom Warms also seated himself. “I’ve got several things on my mind,” Delaney answered. “I sent word out three or four days ago for you to come in.”

  Warms frowned. “I didn’t get it till yesterday,” he said. “I was at the claim.”

  Neither man spoke for a moment, and Delaney teetered back and forth in his chair. “I’ve got a job for you,” he said suddenly, his voice sharp.

  “Yeah?” Warms said without enthusiasm.

  “I want you to get rid of Dan Shea.” Delaney let the chair come down on all four legs. “You’ve had a chance or two at him; this time I want you to get him.”

  Warms scowled. “Shea’s a lucky bastard,” he growled. “I had him dead to rights one time, an’ Louder come chargin’ up an’…”

  “Never mind what Louder did,” Delaney interrupted. “I know all about that. This time I want you to get Dan Shea.”

  Warms sat back in his chair. “What’s in it?” he demanded bluntly. “Look here, Delaney, you don’t go whippin’ me into things without payin’ me for it. What’s in this for me?”

  Delaney’s voice became soft and smooth. “The little matter of dodging a murder charge,” he answered, “and some money if you do the job.”

  Tom Warms’s frown deepened. “Shea’s unlucky to fool with,” he growled. “He killed Lem up there at the San Felice stage stop an’ he scared Tuttle so bad he left the country. I don’t like to fool with Shea by myself.”

  “You’ll have help,” Delaney promised. “There’s a boy here in town, Buster Flint, that has reason to hate Shea. He’ll go with you.”

  Warms nodded. “I know Buster,” he agreed. “He’s all right. But look here, Delaney, you promised me when we got rid of Maples for you that you’d lay off. You was goin’ to forget all about that business of me killin’ Jefferson. You promised you’d give me that paper I signed admittin’ I killed him. You ain’t done it. You…” Tom Warms’s voice was growing menacing with his anger.

  Delaney slid his hand into the drawer of his desk and, bringing it out, rested his elbow on the desk top. His gun-filled hand lay carelessly on the papers that littered the desk.

  “Cool down, Tom,” he grated ominously. “I could kill you right here and go free. That confession isn’t dated, remember. If I shot you in self-defense and showed that confession to Youtsey the whole country would give me a vote of thanks. You’re going to do what I tell you, and I’m not going to give you back your confession. I’ll keep it for insurance.” Delaney laughed, an evil, mirthless chuckle. “And if something should happen to me,” he concluded, “the officers would find that note of yours in my safe and they’d hang you, Tom. Hang you high and dry.”

  Tom Warms slumped back into his chair. His eyes, little and red rimmed and dark with anger, fixed themselves on Delaney’s face. “You got me foul,” Warms growled. “What is it you want me to do, Delaney? I tell you, messin’ with Shea is bad luck, an’ you’re goin’ to have to pay me for it.”

  “I’ll pay you,” Delaney promised. “Now listen, Tom. Carefully.”

  There in the warmth of his office, while the sunlight crawled across the floor, George Delaney drawled on. Tom Warms listened, now and again asking a question, now and again nodding his understanding.

  “So that’s what you’ll do,” Delaney finished. “I thought at first I’d send you out to stop him when he went north. Then I thought that this was a better plan. It’s easier to stop one man alone than it is a bunch. You’ll have Buster to take with you. Do you understand?”

  Warms hoisted himself out of his chair. “I’ll go talk to Buster,” he growled. “After I talk to him I’ll come back.”

  Delaney nodded. “Do that,” he agreed. “But don’t forget what I’ve got in my safe, Tom.”

  Warms went out and, smiling tightly, Delaney slipped his revolver back into the desk drawer.

  He had hardly finished the movement before the door opened again and Ramon de la Luz, eyes angry, came storming into the office. He did not wait for a greeting but came straight to the desk, blurting words as he walked.

  “O’Connor is going to Albuquerque. I have just heard. There is something wrong. He will trick us…”

  “Easy, Ramon,” Delaney soothed. “Sit down and tell me about it.”

  Ramon de la Luz sat down. So much he conceded to Delaney’s request. As for the rest, words poured from him. He had seen Martin O’Connor and Salvador Ocano in Bendición. Even now they were in the plaza, seated in O’Connor’s buckboard. By inquiry Ramon had learned that the two were en route to Albuquerque. The information excited him. He poured out conjecture and suspicion to Delaney.

  Delaney held up his hand for silence. “You’ve no need to worry, Ramon,” he comforted. “No need at all. We’ll go to Albuquerque ourselves. We’ll leave right away. We’ll be where we can watch him.”

  So pacified, Ramon calmed. Sardonically Delaney smiled at the man. If Ramon but knew it, Martin O’Connor was not the man to fear, nor were O’Connor’s moves those that menaced.

  “We’ll take horses,” Delaney said. “If O’Connor’s traveling in his wagon we should beat him into Albuquerque by a day. Don’t worry, Ramon. We’ll take care of Martin O’Connor.”

  So it was that when at noon Martin O’Connor’s canvas-covered wagon rolled out of Bendición and turned toward the north there were horsemen on the road, pushing along ahead of him. And so it was that when the equipage reached Albuquerque Ramon de la Luz and George Delaney were already registered at the hotel, awaiting his arrival.

  O’Connor’s trip to Albuquerque was caused by a sudden decision. Never one to lay aside responsibility or place it in another’s hands, Don Martin had been distrait and moody since the day of Dan Shea’s departure. Time hung heavily upon his hands, and inaction made the time seem longer. Marillita was no comfort for her father. She missed Dan and moped about the house, silent and mournful.

  The letters that Dan wrote from Albuquerque cheered both the girl and her father, and for a few days after their arrival the two—father and daughter—were more nearly their former selves. Then during a visit to Bendición, O’Connor again encountered Ramon de la Luz on the plaza. The meeting was brief and hostile. Warm words led to other, hotter words, and only the intervention of friends kept the two men apart. O’Connor returned fuming to El Puerto del Sol, and the long wait began once more.

  That waiting became intolerable. Action was O’Connor’s life, and there was no action. Letters to Gotleib, even Gotleib’s brief visit to the hacienda, did not bring surcease and so, suddenly, Martin O’Connor decided to go to Albuquerque, believing that his presence there would hasten events, certain that if he was on the scene he could accomplish what he wanted.

  Marillita was to accompany her father on the trip, but the da
y prior to O’Connor’s departure Esme Perrier appeared at El Puerto del Sol. It was Perrier’s custom to spend the Christmas season with the O’Connors, and he was a welcome guest. Still all plans and preparations for the trip north were made, and O’Connor would not forgo it. He left Marillita to entertain their guest and, taking Salvador Ocano for company, started on his journey.

  Martin O’Connor did not achieve his purpose in Albuquerque, and neither did Ramon de la Luz and George Delaney. O’Connor, visiting with Bruno Gotleib, was assured that affairs were progressing as well as could be expected. Gotleib was still searching and having records searched for El Puerto del Sol’s adjudication. So far he had not been successful. He promised faithfully that he would keep Don Martin informed, but he made it evident that O’Connor’s presence was more hindrance than help, and Don Martin, realizing that he could do nothing, again sought release in action. He cut his stay in the northern town to one short day and began his return journey home.

  As for Delaney and Ramon, they could learn nothing. They knew that O’Connor visited Gotleib, and that was all. There was no evidence of new action on Gotleib’s part, and so, having assured Ramon that all was well and that O’Connor was not stealing a march upon them, Delaney could see no point in their staying further. As when the two parties left Bendición, so, too, the horsemen preceded the canvas-covered buckboard on the return journey.

  Arturo de la Luz, that same Arturo of the shearers’ camp at Rancho Norte, had come north with Delaney and Ramon. Arturo was Ramon’s cousin, his primo, and since the encounter between Martin O’Connor and himself in Bendición’s plaza, Ramon had kept Arturo with him as a sort of bodyguard.

  The day was overcast and cloudy as the three men rode out from Albuquerque. A cold wind working around from the west settled in the north and blew steadily. Behind the riders the Sandias were hidden by clouds that hung low over their peaks, and by noon there was a steady, cutting drizzle coming with the wind. Before three o’clock the storm was in full sway, and, wet through and miserable, the travelers sought shelter.

  The country was uninhabited. There were simply broad reaches of mesa stretching away on either hand, dotted with desert growth. The last stage stop was six miles behind them, the next a good ten miles ahead. Arturo, swinging close to Ramon, spoke of an old goat camp not half a mile off the road. If the goats and their herders were at the camp there would be food and warmth. If the camp was uninhabited it would still afford a place of refuge. Ramon and Delaney needed no urging. They turned their horses from the road and, following Arturo’s lead, cut across the beating rain and wind toward the east.

  The goat camp was a small rock house with a rock corral and a shed behind it. When the three arrived they found the house untenanted. There was no sign of recent occupancy. The door swung open readily under Ramon’s hand, and the three stepped in upon the earthen floor, out of the wind.

  In the gloom of the small room, out of the storm, the three men paused and held a consultation. There was a fireplace at the end of the room, dry wood left by the goatherds piled beside it. While Ramon worked with knife and flint and steel to kindle a fire Arturo went out into the storm to put the horses in the shed. He returned to find a tiny blaze snapping on the hearth and Delaney and Ramon laying aside their coats and making themselves as comfortable as possible. Arturo, too, removed his worn coat and hung it from a peg driven between the rocks of the wall. The coat dripped water on the hard-packed earthen floor. Arturo advanced to the fire. Delaney and Ramon were already before the fireplace, and as the fire grew the men turned, now toasting a steaming back, now extending their hands to the warming blaze. Water, falling down the chimney, hissed as it struck the flames. Occasionally a puff of wind, blowing down, spread cedar smoke into the room. Outside the rain, whipped by the wind, beat against the rock walls, and in one corner the sagging roof leaked and water came down in a tiny trickle to run across the floor toward the door.

  Delaney grinned cheerfully at Ramon. “It’s a good thing Arturo knew about this place,” he said. “I was about frozen.”

  Ramon nodded. “We should have stayed in Albuquerque,” he answered moodily.

  Delaney shook his head. “No,” he affirmed, “we should have stopped at the stage station. Well, we can get warm here, and when the rain lets up we’ll go on. I want to get back to Bendición.”

  “I think…” Ramon began and stopped short. There were sounds other than those of wind and rain outside the rock house. Chains jangled. There was a rattle of wheels. Voices, indistinct and blurred by the walls, the wind and the rain, came to the men in the room.

  “Somebody else knew about this place,” Delaney said. “They’ve come to get out of the storm. I wonder who…”

  Once more the door was thrust open, swinging back into the room. A man, big bodied, covered by a coat, his dripping hat pulled low, stood in the opening, his head turned so that he spoke across his shoulder to a companion outside.

  “Ándale, Salvador,” he ordered. Then Martin O’Connor turned his head and stepped across the threshold.

  In the dusk of the room O’Connor did not recognize the men beside the fire. He advanced toward the blaze, unbuttoning his coat as he moved, removing his hat and shaking the water from it. He had nearly reached the fireplace before his eyes, becoming accustomed to the dim light, focused on George Delaney. Then he stopped short and stared in disbelief.

  Delaney spoke cheerfully. “Bad storm,” he said. “We pulled out of it. How are you, Don Martin?”

  For an instant O’Connor made no answer. He was of a mind to turn, go out into the storm again and, calling Salvador, continue his journey. But that thought was instantly discarded. Martin O’Connor had never in his lifetime retreated. To leave now would be a signal of retreat. He came on to the fire, letting his coat swing open.

  “Take off your coat and dry out,” Delaney counseled.

  O’Connor stopped close by the blaze. He looked from Delaney to Ramon de la Luz and to Arturo who squatted on a corner of the hearth.

  “Headed for Albuquerque?” Delaney asked casually.

  “You know where I’m going,” Martin O’Connor ground out.

  Delaney shifted position. “I’ve been wanting to see you,” he announced. “I wanted to talk to you about this suit.”

  “George…” Ramon began. “I believe…”

  “Wait a minute, Ramon,” Delaney ordered. “I’m talking to Don Martin. Mr O’Connor, there’s no reason why we can’t get together on this thing. We’ve got you beat if it comes to trial. Why not save yourself expense and settle out of court?”

  Salvador Ocano came in, closing the door behind him, paused and, pulling off his hat, shook off the water. The drops spattered sharply on the floor as he swung the felt. He took a step and then stopped, seeing and recognizing the men beside the fireplace.

  “How about it, Mr O’Connor?” Delaney pursued the thought. “We’re all right here and…”

  “If I had known I was walking into a nest of rats I’d have gone on!” Martin O’Connor glared at the lawyer. “Damn you, Delaney! You’re behind all this. You know that no damned De la Luz ever owned a foot of El Puerto del Sol!”

  Delaney spread his hands. “Prove it!” he taunted. “You can’t prove it, O’Connor. I’m trying to give you an out, man. You can settle…”

  “I can settle you!” O’Connor roared. “You an’ Ramon an’ all of you. Let me get my hands on you…” He advanced a threatening step, his big hands reaching out. Delaney moved away. Ramon, shifting forward, dark face scowling, was before Martin O’Connor.

  “Cabrón,” he snarled. “Ladrón!”

  “Thief, is it?” O’Connor roared. “By God, I’ll…” He moved swiftly toward Ramon, no question left of his intentions as his hands reached out. Ramon recoiled a step. There in the four rock walls a shot roared. Martin O’Connor staggered and fell back, his hand groping behind him for support. In front of the fireplace Ramon stood, his gun smoking. By the door Salvador Ocano shouted hoar
sely and moved forward, two long steps.

  From the hearth corner Arturo sprang up, his knife glinting evilly. Salvador gave a long, bubbling scream that ended short, chopped off in mid-sound, seemed to rise on his toes as Arturo pressed against him and then collapsed into a huddle on the dirt floor. Martin O’Connor had fallen on his side. Now he moved a trifle, his heavy shoulders touching the dirt.

  “That does it!” Delaney snarled. “You’ve killed him, Ramon!”

  Ramon de la Luz stared down at the gun still in his hand, still with a thread of smoke trickling from the muzzle. Delaney, moving swiftly, reached O’Connor and, kneeling beside him, looked at the bearded face. Martin O’Connor’s eyes were open, wide with shock and surprise.

  “I’m hit,” he muttered. “My leg won’t work. Help me up.”

  Delaney got up and faced Ramon. “There was no need of this!” he snapped. “There were enough of us to stop him without shooting. You’ve torn it now. If we go into court…” He stopped. Still staring at Ramon, Delaney’s face changed expression, the look that was on it, half fright, half anger, draining slowly away. Delaney turned a trifle and stared down at O’Connor, and a gleam of shrewd cunning came into his eyes.

  “Maybe this is the best way after all,” he exclaimed suddenly, as though he spoke to himself. “Shea’s gone. There’s just the girl. Maybe…” He broke off.

  “Help me up,” O’Connor ordered again, a new strength coming into his voice. “Can’t you see I’m hurt? Help me up, I say!”