Passin' Through (Louis L'Amour's Lost Treasures) Page 7

  “Water controls the land, ma’am. You’ve a good spring here and Cherry Creek runnin’ through. My guess is you’d be lucky to get ten dollars an acre for it.

  “Eighteen eighty-one has started off slow around here, ma’am, and there’s so much free land that cattle or sheep men just don’t have to buy. Folks who have money to spend will be buying lots in town now the railroad is comin’ in. There’s talk the railroad will build its own town an’ leave Animas City high and dry. But don’t take that for gospel. I just listen when folks talk.”

  “Do they talk about this place? About me?”

  “No, ma’am, not that I heard. Folks are pretty busy with their own affairs. Naturally, your bein’ new folks I expect there’s some curiosity. And that Pinkerton man, he’s been askin’ questions.”

  Her skin seemed to tighten and for a moment there she looked almost angry. First time I’d seen anything but pleasantness on her face.

  “You brought back a few things,” she said, “and I thank you. I am afraid there is too little here.” She looked over at me suddenly. “You spoke of cattle. Have you any idea how many could be sold?”

  “It’s mostly young stuff, ma’am, just what you need to start a ranchin’ operation. With what I’ve seen, an’ I haven’t been over but a piece of country, you’ve got the makin’s of a fine little ranch here. Why, in four or five years—”

  “Four or five years?” she exclaimed. “But that’s impossible! I can’t spend that much time here. Why—!” She shook her head. “Mr. Passin’, you’ll simply have to help us. We know nothing about ranching, and when we came here…well, we didn’t expect this. All we can do is sell the cattle and the ranch, whatever there is, and go back east.

  “I’m afraid I’m not cut out for this, Mr. Passin’. I’ve been accustomed to people, to lights, music, crowds. I thought when we came here it would be a place to rest, to recuperate. All I can see ahead of us here is a lot of hard work.”

  “That’s true, ma’am. It’s a good place but it will need work. There’s nothing about this country that’s easy, there’s aplenty here but it has to be worked for. Nobody hands it to you on a platter.”

  “But isn’t there gold out here? Mightn’t there be gold on this property?”

  “I doubt it, ma’am. There’s gold in the La Platas, and there’s silver, as the old Spanishmen who named the mountains knew, but it takes a sight of work to get at it. This land you’ve got…well, up there on the hill I saw an outcropping of coal. May not amount to much, and folks over in Pioche told me there was a lot of coal in this country, but nobody is buyin’ coal from out here. Maybe after the railroad is in…but there’s plenty of it easier to mine and closer to the railroad.

  “You’ll have to make it with cattle, ma’am. Or sheep.”

  “Find a buyer for me. I will sell the cattle and the ranch. We will sell out and go east.”

  “Like I say, ma’am, that will take some doin’. There’s still land around for the takin’, I expect, although I’ve made no inquiries and cash money is almighty scarce.”

  She seemed some put out. She got up and walked to the window, but all you could see from there was the black ridge against the sky and some stars that looked like lights not far off, bright as they were in the night sky.

  “There’s beauty here, ma’am. It’s a great country. Over yonder on the east side of this place there’s a fine stand of aspen. They’ll turn gold in the autumn, ma’am, and the oak will turn red, some of it. Ma’am, just wait until you see it. You’ll never want to leave.”

  Well, she just looked at me. “I shall want to leave, young man, and I shall do so. Find me a buyer.” She turned her eyes to me with a quizzical look. “Unless you’d like to buy it yourself. You said you’d saved a little.”

  Well, I blushed. At least I turned kind of red. I could feel it. “Ma’am, my little stake wouldn’t count to a hill of beans. I’m a workin’ man, ma’am, and I never had much. This bit I got put by is nothing. I couldn’t begin to buy this ranch or the cattle.”

  “I want to leave. I might sell for less than you expect.”

  “You’ve called me Mr. Passin’, Passin’ Through, that’s me. I was driftin’ when I came here and when I leave I’ll just keep on down the trail. I came from nowhere and I’m goin’ right back.”

  “You have no relatives? No one who would miss you?”

  “Not a soul, ma’am. I’m a lone-ridin’ man an’ there’s nobody waitin’ for me, anywhere.”

  Matty was staring at me, almost angry, it seemed like. Anyway, she was irritated. About what I didn’t know. Maybe she thought I was feelin’ sorry for myself, but no such thing. It was just my way of talkin’. This was the kind of life I liked.

  Well, I finished eating and went to the granary. I saw Mrs. Hollyrood get up and go to her room, and Matty was revving up in the kitchen.

  For some reason I was unhappy with myself, and I leaned on the corral bars and the roan came over and pushed its nose against me. Why I should be out of sorts I didn’t know, unless it was the thought of them selling this place.

  Good land was getting scarce with all the folks moving in, and this was one of the last places in the country to be settled. Somehow I’d thought they’d come home. I mean, that this was where they’d stay. If I’d figured they were just going to sell out and move on, I’d not have been so all-fired busy fixing things up.

  Matty came to the door and threw out some water, then she walked over to me. She stood there a minute, enjoying the night.

  “It is beautiful,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am. Rarely so, rarely. Somehow I wasn’t expectin’ you folks to move on. I thought you’d found a home.”

  “Mr. Passin’,” she spoke quietly, “no matter what you think of yourself you’re a nice man, a kindly man. If I were you I’d saddle up that roan and ride out of here, and I would do it now. I would ride out and never look back.”

  She walked back to the house, into the door, and a moment later the light was blown out.

  * * *

  —

  Well, now. That was a surprise. Ride out, when they still had trouble facin’ them? Ride out when Lew Paine was still around? I couldn’t do that.

  I went inside and undressed for bed. When I had a boot off I sat on the edge of the bed thinkin’ of what she’d said, and wonderin’ why. It sounded almost like a warnin’, and no doubt she didn’t see much sense in me bein’ involved with their troubles with Lew Paine, and all.

  Daybreak showed up right on time and found me out there giving the horses a bait of corn as well as hay. This was a day I planned on checking cattle, but first I needed to see Phillips’ tally book, if he left one.

  Most cowmen keep a tally of the cattle on the range and the brands they own or see on their place. Some cattlemen had several brands registered in their name, as often enough they’d buy out another brand. If I had his tally book I could have an idea of what to look for and how many.

  Breakfast was soon over and Matty came in as I was finishing. She’d left everything ready for me.

  “Ma’am? A cattleman usually has a tally book that keeps account of the cattle he owns and the brands. Usually it’s a little notebook, bound in leather or cloth or somethin’ of the kind.”

  “There’s some old papers in that drawer over there, on the far side of the living room. I don’t know what all it is, just old letters and such. I believe I did see a little brown book in there.”

  Takin’ my cup with me, I went in to where the drawer was and opened it. Sure enough, there was a sheaf of papers there, mostly old. There was the tally book that I wanted, but I gathered up all of it.

  When I got back to my bunk in the granary I sat down and opened up the tally book. What I wanted was there all right, but there was something else.

  There was a will, a last will and testament.
r />   CHAPTER 9

  Matty had been busy at the cookin’ stove when I gathered up the papers and I’d put most of them in the pocket of my coat. Holding up the tally book, I’d said, “This was what I wanted. Now I can get some idea of what to look for.”

  Every cattleman had his own way of keeping accounts—some were mighty casual about it, others very thorough. Often they wrote in a shorthand of their own, not to conceal anything but just to keep it brief. Some items were dated as to where cattle had been seen, and I found mention of two springs or seeps I hadn’t known about.

  “Now I’ll be able to get some idea of what the place is worth,” I’d told her, “although I think she’d be foolish to sell. The deeded land is worth something, but there’s a lot of grazin’ around, all for free.”

  “We know nothing about cattle and Mrs. Hollyrood only planned to vacation here. She wanted to rest and relax. This”—she glanced around—“wasn’t exactly what she expected.”

  Matty was wearin’ a blue-an’-white gingham dress an’ looked mighty fetchin’. Her eyes were very large and she had a way of lookin’ directly at you, but she rarely smiled. Her face was without a line that I could see.

  There was something about her that was somehow familiar although I knew I’d never seen her before. Something in her voice, something in the way she walked.

  Checking through the tally book, I made a rough count in my head and figured there must be six or seven hundred head of mixed stock runnin’ around. From what I’d seen it didn’t look like he’d shipped lately. That is, I’d seen thirty or forty head, just in my few rides, that were the right age and size. If he had sold very much, this stock would have gone along with the rest.

  He had some fat young stuff that was coming along, and with the railroad coming in he stood to make some cash money. Looked to me, thinking of that stock ready for shipping, that he had known about the railroad and was waiting a-purpose.

  “Mrs. Hollyrood would like to realize as much cash as she can and just go back where she came from.”

  Well, I could understand that. For her kind of woman this wasn’t much of a life. She was used to the city, theaters, and living high off the hog.

  “How about you?” I asked. “She could let you run this place. I can’t stay on, but I’d help you get started, and then go on about my business.”

  “You’re a mining man?”

  “Not really, ma’am. I’ve worked at this an’ that, but I’ve prospected some and mostly found nothing. Sometimes a man will find a pocket, but when he’s cleaned it out there’s not much left. I found one here a month or so back. Did pretty well.”

  Taking up my hat and stuffing the tally book in my pocket, I thanked her for breakfast and went to the granary. Findin’ that will in the drawer bothered me some. It had been shuffled in with a lot of old letters and could easily have been missed.

  Alone in the granary I sat on my bunk and looked at that will. With the first line I shivered like somebody had stepped on my grave.

  I, John Le Caudy Phillips, being of sound mind, do hereby give and bequeath all my worldly possessions to my beloved niece, Janet Le Caudy. Her father, Robert Le Caudy, having left her his half-share in the ranch and cattle, this leaves her the entire and exclusive ownership of the properties concerned.

  It was signed by Phillips and witnessed by three men, Jacob Reams, William Barker, and Timothy Farrell.

  For a long time I just stared at that will. Something was very wrong here. If this will was a true one, then the will that gave the ranch to Mrs. Hollyrood was not. And who was Janet Le Caudy, “my beloved niece”?

  My attention returned to the will. It was dated in Animas City, just one year ago. What was the date on the will Mrs. Hollyrood possessed? Something was wrong here, very wrong. If Phillips had left the ranch to Mrs. Hollyrood, what of “my beloved niece”? And what of the half of the ranch she owned, anyway?

  Lawing had never been any part of my business. Like many another, I’d picked up a little law from hearing it argued in court, but that wasn’t near enough.

  How did all these papers happen to be in that drawer? Had Mrs. Hollyrood and Matty never searched the house? It stood to reason they had not. Matty knew the papers were there, she’d told me of them. Evidently looking through dusty papers in an old ranchhouse desk hadn’t appealed to them. Probably they felt they were of no concern.

  Taking up the letters, I glanced through them. Most were from this Janet. He called her Jackie, and from the tone Phillips had been more like a father than an uncle. The letters from her showed a genuine affection, and it looked like Phillips had financed her education and such. A man like that wouldn’t be about to disown a niece he loved so much. Yet, he had done just that. Was this what lawyers might call “undue influence”? I mean, had Mrs. Hollyrood had him so taken with her that he forgot his niece? But how could he forget that she owned half the ranch?

  He couldn’t legally give away something he didn’t own, no matter how involved he might have been.

  Now I was worried. Looking down at the stuff in my hands, I had an idea. Several business letters were in the bunch, so I left them out in plain sight but arranged them so I’d know if anybody touched them. Some I took from the envelopes and scattered them to make it look like more than there were. The other letters and the will I put in a rusty tin can and sat it on a beam in the dark with a few rusty nails atop of it.

  With the tally book I set out to check the range, counting cattle as I rode. By the time the sun was sliding down the western sky I had counted a hundred and forty head of longhorns, all in pretty good shape, and sixty-five head of white-face cattle. When I turned my mount into the corral, I washed up but found myself hesitating about going inside. Finally, I walked over, rapped on the door, and stepped inside.

  Supper was on and Matty looked around from the stove. “You’re late.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I was countin’ cattle. You’ve got some fine stock out there. This is good grazin’ land and the stock I saw is nice ’n’ fat.”

  Mrs. Hollyrood came in, her gray hair lookin’ like she just had a hairdresser work on it. But then, she always looked neat an’ proper. “Matty tells me you found the tally book—was that what you called it?”

  “Yes, ma’am. It helps a good bit. Now I know how many head he was runnin’ and where most of them graze. A few days from now I’ll have an accurate count for you.”

  “Can you arrange a sale? I don’t necessarily mean to ship them, but perhaps some of the local ranchers would be interested.”

  “They sure would, ma’am, but cash money is almighty scarce. I doubt if there’s anybody around who could pay cash on the barrelhead for them. Nobody has that kind of money lyin’ about.”

  “How about you, Mr. Passin’?”

  “No, ma’am, I’m not fixed to go into the cattle business. I got me a little stake but not enough to handle a deal like that. Anyway, I’m driftin’. This here’s mighty pretty country but there’s a sight of land I haven’t seen. I’m ridin’ back to get my horses and gear an’ then I’ll hit the trail.”

  Pausing, I looked around at her. “Ain’t much I can do for you folks once I’ve finished my count. There’s no use fixin’ up around if you’re not plannin’ to stay.”

  Well, we set there talkin’ of this an’ that, and finally Mrs. Hollyrood, she says, “You’ve been very kind, Mr. Passin’. Let us know when you plan to leave and I’ll fix a nice supper for you.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. I’d appreciate that.”

  It was a beautiful starlit night and all of a sudden I was wishing I was out on the trail, makin’ my own camp, goin’ to sleep with the stars overhead and a breeze stirrin’ the aspens.

  Maybe I wasn’t much of a people man. Maybe I was just fixed for the out-of-doors, for the wide open country where the coyotes run and the eagles fly.

  At
the door I took down my lantern, lifted the globe, and struck a match to light the wick. Then I went inside. I hung up the lantern and taken off my jacket. As I hung it up my eyes went to the table where I’d left the letters and for a moment I stood real still, just lookin’. Somebody had moved them, moved them carefully so’s they thought I’d not notice. But I’d left them so I would know.

  A person lookin’ at such truck would leave it much as it was found, but disarranged. Whoever had looked at those letters had tried to leave them exactly as I’d left them.

  Standing where I was, I looked around, checking everything. Now, I’d been makin’ my bed army-style the way McCarron left it, the top blanket tight enough to bounce a coin on it. It was made up the same way but wasn’t nowhere near as tight as I’d left it.

  Somebody had looked under my pillow and had examined the bed, somebody who tried to leave it so’s I’d not know they’d been around.

  The spare pistol I left in the bed was still there and I picked it up. Now, when a man handles guns ever’ day of his life he comes to know their feel, and something about this one, my own gun, felt wrong. Mostly I carried a Colt, but this was a new gun I’d picked up. I swung out the cylinder to check it, and started to close it again when something caught my eye. I looked again.

  Now I always kept my guns full loaded. Some left an empty chamber under the hammer, but not me. When I wanted a gun I wanted it bad, and this one was loaded, but something caught my eye and I knew I was lookin’ at an exploded shell. Now, when I fire a shot I reload. I never left a gun with empty shells in it.

  Dumping these out in my hand, I swore softly, bitterly. Somebody wanted me dead. Somebody who had removed three cartridges from my gun and substituted three empty shells placed so the next three shots I tried to fire would be wasted.

  Somebody who had access to the granary and my bunk wanted me dead, no matter where or by whom.

  It was time I was getting off down the trail. One thing I wanted, and they had offered to pay me. I wanted the Death Horse. I wanted that blue roan. That was a mighty fine animal and left here somebody would shoot it, feelin’ as they did. Maybe that horse would carry me to my death, but if so it would be a mighty nice ride.