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The gray waited patiently by the brush, but Jim Sandifer untied him and swung into the saddle. It was a fast ride he made back to the ranch on Iron Creek. There he swapped saddles, explaining all to Katrishen. “I’m riding,” he said, “there’s no room in this country for Lee Martin now.”
“Want us to come?” Bill asked.
“No, they might think it was war. You stay out of it, for we want no Pleasant Valley War here. Leave it lay. I’ll settle this.”
He turned from the trail before he reached the B Bar, riding through the cottonwoods and sycamores along the creek. Then he rode up between the buildings and stopped beside the corral. The saddle leather creaked when he swung down, and he saw a slight movement at the corner of the corral.
“Klee? Is that you?” It was Art Du
Jim Sandifer took a long step forward. “No, Art,” he said, swiftly, “it’s me!”
Du
Du
The belt slipped down and Du
The bunkhouse door opened and Sparkman stepped into the light. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “What goes on?”
Sandifer called softly, and Sparkman grunted and came down off the steps. “Jim! You here? There’s the devil to pay up at the house, man! I don’t know what came off up there, but there was a shootin’! When we tried to go up, Mont was on the steps with a shot gun to drive us back.”
“Take care of this hombre. I’ll find out what’s wrong fast enough. Where’s Grimes an’ Rep?”
“Rep Dean rode over to the line cabin on Canyon Creek to round up some boys in case of trouble. Grimes is inside.”
“Then take Du
Jim Sandifer turned swiftly and started for the house. He walked rapidly, circling as he went toward the little-used front door, opened only on company occasions. That door, he knew, opened into a large, old-fashioned parlor that was rarely used. It was a show place, stiff and uncomfortable, and mostly gilt and plush. The front door was usually locked, but he remembered that he had occasion to help move some furniture not long before and the door had been left unlocked. There was every chance that it still was, for the room was so little used as to be almost forgotten.
Easing up on the veranda, he tiptoed across to the door and gently turned the knob. The door opened inward, and he stepped swiftly through and closed it behind him. All was dark and silent, but there was light under the intervening door, and a sound of movement. With the thick carpet muffling his footfalls, he worked his way across the room to the door.
“How’s the old man?” Martin was asking.
His mother replied. “He’s all right. He’ll live.”
Martin swore. “If that girl hadn’t bumped me, I’d have killed him and we’d be better off. We could easy enough fix things so that Sandifer would get blamed for it.”
“Don’t be in a hurry,” Rose Martin intervened. “You’re always in such a fret. The girl’s here, an’ we can use her to help. As long as we have her, the old man will listen, and while he’s hurt, she’ll do as she’s told.”
Martin muttered under his breath. “If we’d started by killing Sandifer like I wanted, all would be well,” he said irritably. “What he said about the Katrishen trouble startin’ with our comin’ got the old man to thinkin’. Then I figure Bowen was sorry he fired his foreman.”
“No matter!” Rose Martin was brusque. “We’ve got this place and we can handle the Katrishens ourselves. There’s plenty of time now Sandifer’s gone.”
Steps sounded. “Lee, the old man’s comin’ out of it. He wants his daughter.”
“Tell him to go climb a tree!” Martin replied stiffly. “You watch him.”
“Where’s Art?” Klee protested. “I don’t like it, Lee! He’s been gone too long. Somethin’s up!”
“Aw, forget it! Quit cryin’! You do more yelpin’ than a mangy coyote!”
Sandifer stood very still, thinking. There was no sound of Elaine so she must be a prisoner in her room. Turning, he tiptoed across the room toward the far side. A door there, beyond the old piano, opened into Elaine’s room. Carefully, he tried the knob. It held.
At that very instant a door opened abruptly and he saw light under the door before him. He heard a startled gasp from Elaine, and Lee Martin’s voice, taunting, familiar.
“What’s the matter? Scared?” Martin laughed. “I just came in to see if you was all right. If you’d kept that pretty mouth of yours shut, your Dad would still be all right! You tellin’ him Sandifer was correct about the Katrishens, an’ that he shouldn’t of fired him!”
“He shouldn’t have,” the girl said quietly. “If he was here now he’d kill you. Get out of my room!”
“Maybe I ain’t ready to go?” he taunted. “An’ from now on I’m goin’ to come an’ go as I like.”
His steps advanced into the room, and Jim tightened his grip on the knob. He remembered that lock, and it was not set very securely. Suddenly, an idea came to him. Turning, he picked up an old glass lamp, large and ornate. Balancing it momentarily in his hand, he drew it back and hurled it with a long overhand swing, through the window!
Glass crashed on the verandah and the lamp hit, went down a step and lay there. Inside the girl’s room there was a startled exclamation, and he heard ru
As he had expected the flimsy lock carried away, and he was catapulted through the door into Elaine’s bedroom. Catching himself, he wheeled like a cat and sprang for the door that opened into the living room beyond. He reached it just as Mont jerked the curtain back, but not wanting to endanger the girl, he swung hard with his fist instead of drawing his gun.
The blow came out of a clear sky to smash Mont on the jaw and he staggered back into the room. Jim Sandifer sprang through, legs spread, hands wide.
“You, Martin!” he said sharply. “Draw!”
Lee Martin was a killer, but no gunman. White to the lips, his eyes deadly, he sprang behind his mother and grabbed for the shotgun.
“Shoot, Jim!” Elaine cried. “Shoot!”
He could not. Rose Martin stood between him and his target and Martin had the shotgun now and was swinging it. Jim lunged, shoving the table over and the lamp shattered in a crash. He fired, then fired again. Flame stabbed the darkness at him and he fell back against the wall, switching his gun. Fire laced the darkness into a stabbing crimson crossfire and the room thundered with sound, then died to stillness that was the stillness of death itself.
No sounded remained, only the acrid smell of gunpowder mingled with the smell of coal oil and the faint, sickish sweet smell of blood. His guns ready, Jim crouched in the darkness, alert for movement. Somebody groaned, then sighed deeply, and a spur grated on the floor. From the next room, Gray Bowen called weakly. “Daughter? Daughter, what’s happened? What’s wrong?”
There was no movement yet, but the darkness grew more familiar. Jim’s eyes became more accustomed to it. He could see no one standing. Yet it was Elaine who broke the stillness.
“Jim? Jim, are you all right? Oh, Jim—are you safe?”