Lassiter Tough Read online

  He set his horse to a canter. By the time he arrived back at Box C, the animal was lathered and Lassiter’s clothing sticky with perspiration. It was an overcast day that kept the growing heat pressed to the ground as if with a giant tent. There seemed to be no one around the corral or bunkhouse. He thought it strange. Usually there was at least one man at the home place. Cottonwood branches seemed to droop in the heat.

  Esperanza Herrera had just washed her hair and was drying it on the porch of the small house she shared with her husband. He rode over and asked about her husband and the crew. Where were they? She threw back the long damp hair over a shoulder and looked up at him in the saddle of his lathered horse. “Luis say you give orders.”

  “Orders for what?”

  “To take the whole crew and go over east to move cattle away from Kilhaven’s boundary. To clear out that end of the range.”

  “I said that?” Well, to tell the truth, he had been thinking it. With Tate having sold out and Rooney dead, Sanlee’s next move would logically be against Kilhaven, one way or another. Perhaps he had mentioned it to Herrera. He couldn’t rightly remember. But he was a little miffed that Herrera had taken it upon himself to do the job without talking it over first.

  “I don’t understand why Luis thought I ordered him to do it.”

  “It was Señor Barkley who bring word.”

  “Barkley?” He was the new man Herrera had hired on to replace one of the vaqueros who had quit after Rep Chandler’s funeral. Lassiter stared down at the woman. “What’s Barkley got to do with it?”

  “He come an’ he say he run into you on the way to town. An’ you give orders for Luis to take the whole crew an’ go over to Kilhaven’s line.”

  “The whole crew, eh?” Lassiter stiffened in the saddle, his blue eyes sweeping the ranch yard. He looked at the big house in the cottonwoods some distance away. “Is Mrs. Chandler home?”

  “I do not know for sure, señor.” The woman explained that she had been out back washing the family clothes and then her hair.

  “How long ago did Luis and the men leave?”

  “Right after you go to town.” Her brown face showed concern. “Is something wrong?”

  “I dunno. Maybe.” The whole damn thing didn’t add up. Barkley telling Luis Herrera that he, Lassiter, had issued orders to move cattle away from Kilhaven’s line. And to take the whole crew. It smelled worse than a dead skunk in July heat. He turned his horse and started for the house.

  21

  *

  Earlier that morning, Isobel Hartney and her two clerks were using feather dusters in the store. Her blond hair was pinned up, making her look quite regal despite a voluminous apron with its straps across her slender back. She had been dusting a windowsill when she happened to look out to see Brad Sanlee enter town with some of his men. They dismounted in front of O’Leary’s. The men went inside and Brad came walking toward the store.

  She could tell by Brad’s tense face that something was up. Usually she didn’t open the store this early, but it was Saturday and yesterday had been the first of the month, payday on the ranches, a double reason for being ready for business.

  At first she thought of having her clerks tell Brad that she was indisposed. She hadn’t seen him since the day she had abruptly left his guests and driven herself home in one of his wagons. But she had to face him sometime. Why not today?

  A scowling Brad jerked open the side door, letting it slam back against its stop. “I figured you’d still be in bed,” he said in a nasty voice. The two clerks lost the color in their faces. When Sanlee was in one of his moods, there was no telling just what the next few minutes might hold.

  He swaggered over to her, big and bearded, a gun swinging at his hip. He got her by an arm and hurried her at a stumbling run to the foot of the rear stairs where they would be out of earshot of the clerks.

  “You ran out on me the other day,” he accused, leaning close so she had the full impact of his glittering gray eyes. But she didn’t flinch.

  “I’d had enough of you for one day.” Her chin lifted.

  He grinned. “I just thought you’d like to know about Buck Rooney.”

  “What about him?” Something made her heart lurch.

  “Lassiter murdered him.”

  “Come now, Brad, that’s preposterous and you know it.” But her mouth was dry and her eyes enormous.

  “We got a witness.”

  She tried to slow her pounding heart. “What witness?”

  “Doc Clayburn.”

  “You’re making this up to … to frighten me.”

  “Doc had been worryin’ about my sis losin’ her husband. He was on his way out to Box C to find out if she might be needin’ a tonic or somethin’.”

  “Do you mean to tell me that Doc witnessed Lassiter murder Buck Rooney?” She sounded incredulous.

  “He was right there in the brush. Rooney an’ Lassiter wasn’t more’n twenty feet away. He could see an’ hear most everything. Lassiter didn’t like somethin’ Rooney said to him, so Doc says. Doc was too far away to really know what Rooney said. But he sure seen Lassiter whip out a gun an’ kill him.”

  “You’re making this up to frighten me.” She was clasping her hands at her breasts so tightly that her knuckles were white as bleached bone. The sounds of her two clerks arranging merchandise in the store were faint. Her heart pounded.

  “Doc’s ready to swear in court,” Sanlee said triumphantly.

  “Somebody should get word to Sheriff Palmer.”

  “He’s already got word from me.”

  The shaft of cold fear that had pierced her heart was now shifting to anger. “You and the sheriff,” she said, her red lips barely moving. “Yes, I begin to see it all now.”

  “Once Lassiter’s done for, maybe I’ll come around to see how you feel about marryin’ up with me. But then again, maybe I won’t.”

  “Brad, if you do something to Lassiter it will really be murder. The law will …”

  “Hell, honey, I am the law.” Grinning broadly, he pulled out a badge. He showed it to her. She wasn’t surprised. The sheriff and Brad’s late father had been close. At election time, the elder Sanlee had made sure that most voters chose Doak Palmer to remain in office. And Brad had taken over from his father.

  “So you see, if I should happen to arrest Lassiter an’ he makes a break for it … well, I got no choice but to bring him in.”

  “With a shot in the back,” she flung at him bitterly.

  “I’ll yell myself hoarse tellin’ him to halt. But finally I’ll have no choice but to get him. ’Course I’ll aim for a leg, but you know how things go when a fella is runnin’ full tilt, tryin’ to get away. A bullet don’t always go where you aim.”

  “Brad, you are a rotten son of a bitch!” Tears of rage and fear spilled from her large eyes.

  Instead of anger at what she had said, he threw back his head and bellowed with laughter. At the door he said, “I’ll be back, so get yourself prettied up. Reckon I’ll be marryin’ with you after all.”

  Wiping her eyes, she ran after him, realizing all of a sudden that reviling him would not help Lassiter in the least. She tugged at his shirt sleeve. “Brad, let’s have coffee and talk about this.”

  “Talk about what?”

  “I just can’t believe that Doc Clayburn …”

  “Believe it.” Grinning, he pulled her fingers from his shirt and started over to O’Leary’s. She saw him enter the saloon. When he didn’t emerge immediately with his men, she breathed a little easier.

  Isobel poured water from a pitcher into a basin and washed her eyes, dried her face on a towel, then told her clerks she had some business to attend to. She hurried out into the clear morning and walked rapidly toward the building where Doc Clayburn had his office and living quarters. It was a narrow, two-story building that stood alone at the eastern edge of town. It was surrounded by a great tangle of mesquite and cottonwoods intended to help mask the activities of the former reside
nts. When Isobel was a young girl, it had been a brothel. Being naturally curious, she used to walk home from school to pass the building. She would stand across the street in the trees and note who came and went. She became such a fixture that some of the girls would at times laugh and wave to her from the windows. Finally her father got wind of what she was doing and campaigned to have the place closed down. Due to his efforts, such activities were now carried on at a place called Big Creek, three miles out of town. It was not a creek at all, but a very dry wash.

  After much knocking and calling his name, Isobel finally got Doc Clayburn to come to his office door. He was bleary-eyed and reeked of alcohol. “Miss Hartney,” he said with so deep a bow that he nearly lost his balance. “What brings you here so early in the morning?”

  “Doc, Brad Sanlee just told me that you witnessed Lassiter murder Buck Rooney.” She saw his face tighten. He straightened his shoulders.

  She shoved her way into the narrow, cluttered room and closed the door at her back. There was a chemical smell from bottles on a long table. There was a pestle and mortar with a grayish substance in the bottom. Some of it had spilled onto the table. There was also a quart bottle of whiskey with only an inch of dark brown liquid left in it. Next to it was a dirty glass. This morning Doc Clayburn seemed to have aged since the last time she had seen him, which was only a few days before. His rather large sideburns only accentuated his thin and haggard face.

  “You … you’ll have to excuse me, Miss Hartney. I’m expecting a patient.”

  “Didn’t you hear what I said?” she demanded, leaning down to his height.

  It seemed as if the strength had suddenly gone out of his legs. He sank to a padded leather chair, pale and grim. Finally, after much prodding from her, he began to talk. He spoke of a time when he was much younger, back in the state of New York. “My wife took a fancy to a neighbor. I killed him. Then I turned the gun on my terrified wife, but I couldn’t pull the trigger. Because she was the mother of our baby daughter. The man I found in my wife’s embrace had friends and influence. Had I stayed, I would have been executed. My daughter is now a mother with children of her own. My arrest would be devastating to her.” He lifted his hands and let them plop to his knees.

  “And now Brad’s told you to lie about Lassiter or he’ll see you arrested.”

  “One day I foolishly mentioned the New York killing to Brad. He was only a boy then, but he never forgot. I’d had too much whiskey that day and I was despondent because I’d just received a letter from my daughter. Even after all that had happened, we still corresponded. She wrote that my wife, her mother, had died. As a result, I was in a melancholy mood that day and needed someone to talk to… .”

  “You can’t just accuse Lassiter.”

  “For myself, I don’t care,” he said wearily. “But my daughter, my only child. Disgrace would be shattering and Brad let me know that he would get word to the law in New York.”

  “You’d accuse an innocent man?”

  “Isobel, face facts. Lassiter is a known killer.” She started to interrupt, but he waved her to silence. “He’s gone unpunished for God knows how many crimes. So in a way it’s justice.”

  “Not justice but cowardice on your part. Face up to Brad. Defy him. It’s only his word against yours about that business back in New York.”

  He gave her a sad smile and said, “Then you don’t know Brad very well.”

  “Oh, I know him.”

  “Yes,” he said after a moment of searching her eyes, “I guess you do.”

  She felt herself flush. But this morning there was more at stake than her indiscretions. It was a man’s life. At first she tried to reason with him, but he kept shaking his head. Finally she lost her temper. He got up from the chair, squared his shoulders and asked her to leave.

  “What’s a worthless life like Lassiter’s?” he demanded when she hesitated. “His life weighed against the well-being of my daughter and grandchildren?”

  “Lassiter’s isn’t a worthless life,” she said stiffly. “He’s honorable and decent. It’s men like Brad who’ve spread those vile stories about him.”

  “Ah, women,” he said, peering at her out of bloodshot eyes, “always entranced by a rogue.”

  “Doc. I’m ashamed at you.”

  “Perhaps. But remember this. As you reminded me that it was only Brad’s word against mine, so it’s the same between you and me. If you reveal this discussion we’ve had this morning, I’ll deny it.” He looked resolute and for the first time his gaze was unwavering.

  Troubled by what she had learned, she wondered what to do. Perhaps Lassiter would be in town today, since it was Saturday. Or at least some of his men would be in. She could send a message that she had to see him. On the way back to her store, she walked near enough to O’Leary’s hitching post to see that the Diamond Eight horses were still there. At least Brad wasn’t making an immediate move.

  It was over two hours later that she happened to see Lassiter riding along the alley from the direction of the bank. Rushing to the rear door, she waved and called to him, but he ignored her and rode rapidly away. At first she was so angered by his rudeness that she almost hated him. Then later she calmed down and thought seriously about the danger he faced.

  There was one thing she didn’t realize. Over an hour before, Brad and his men had left O’Leary’s, riding west out of town so they wouldn’t have to pass her store.

  22

  *

  Esperanza Herrera had gone back into her small house and closed the door. Lassiter was riding toward the headquarters of Box C, the big adobe in the cluster of cottonwoods. He had just dismounted in front of the house, hurrying up the veranda steps, when his ears picked up the distinctive clack of a shod hoof on rock. His head jerked around in the direction of the sound. He froze at the sight of men riding up through the cottonwoods by the barn.

  Spinning around, he started running back down the veranda steps, intending to grab his rifle from the saddle boot. But he had only taken two steps when he heard a squeak of hinges as the door at his back was suddenly opened.

  “Hold it, Lassiter!” It was Brad Sanlee’s amused voice.

  Lassiter looked over his shoulder. One of Sanlee’s arms was tight around Millie’s slender waist, his fingers gripping a .45 aimed at Lassiter. The other hand was across his half-sister’s mouth. Her eyes were wild with mingled fury and alarm. She tried to struggle there in the doorway of the big house, but Sanlee was too strong.

  As Lassiter stood frozen on the veranda step, Doane and Pinto George came riding around one corner of the house. From the opposite direction appeared Joe Tige, the upper edge of a dirty bandage at the open collar of his shirt. At his side was Jeddy Quine with the drooping left eyelid, and the new Box C hand, Pete Barkley, the turncoat. As they rode up through the cottonwoods by the barn, there was a smug look on Barkley’s face. He chewed tobacco and spat a brown stream.

  “Stand hitched, Lassiter,” came Sanlee’s voice at his back. “Don’t even twitch a finger. You’ll do that if you think anything at all of my kid sister. If not, well …” He let it hang there with all the ugly connotations.

  Lassiter clenched his teeth. Everything flashed across Lassiter’s mind like a streak of lightning: to come all this way, fight all the battles and have it end like this. And just as quickly it was gone. He straightened his shoulders and spoke firmly.

  “Leave your sister out of it. This is between you an’ me.”

  “Yeah, it sure is, Lassiter.” Sanlee chuckled. “You got that part of it right, anyhow. Now you back up the steps. Slow an’ easy. An’ don’t look around. I’ll tell you when to stop.”

  Lassiter eyed the men who were watching him with tight amusement from their saddles—all except Joe Tige, whom he had shot the day Rooney died. Tige glared.

  Knowing he had no choice, under the circumstances, Lassiter backed slowly until Sanlee called a halt. He felt a gun rammed against his spine. Although he did not look around, he could hea
r the strangled sounds of anger made by Millie against the hand pressed over her mouth.

  At Sanlee’s order, Pinto George dismounted and ran lightly up the veranda steps. The pale eyes were mocking as he gingerly reached out and unbuckled Lassiter’s gun belt. Then he stepped back, wrapped the belt around the holstered revolver and threw it over the railing into some geraniums that Millie had been trying to grow.

  “With your fangs pulled, you’re kinda harmless-lookin’,” Sanlee said jovially. He had removed his hand from Millie’s mouth. She turned on him in rage, but he only laughed.

  Then she said to Lassiter, “He came sneaking in the back door before I knew what happened.” She seemed close to tears of anger and frustration. “Now he’s got some crazy idea… .”

  “I told her she’s gonna marry Marcus Kilhaven,” Sanlee said bluntly. “An’ she is.”

  “No!” she cried. “It worked once with Rep Chandler, but not again!”

  “It’ll work again, sis.”

  “Damn you, Brad, you can’t force me… .”

  “I can an’ I will.” His voice hardened. “You know how things are done around here.”

  “Don’t bother to tell me.”

  “You’re a widow lady an’ I’m your brother. An’ I step in an’ take over. An’ I say what’s best for you. You marryin’ Kilhaven is best.”

  “Best for you, you mean!” she screamed and tried to claw his face. But he gripped her two wrists in one large hand. His smile was ugly through the beard. “Spitfire, that’s what you are. I reckon Kilhaven will sure appreciate that in a wife.”

  When she tried to run, Sanlee grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. Her hair swung wildly and the shoulder of her dress ripped down to the top of a white camisole. A nipple and the upper part of a breast showed through the thin material.

  “Keep an eye on Lassiter!” Sanlee shouted angrily at the ring of staring riders around the veranda. Five of them Lassiter remembered from roundup, but he didn’t know their names. But they had the mark of toughness in lean faces as did the others.