Death Waits Here

Chapter Two The Saboteurs

He followed her through a rear door and found himself in clean, neat, comfortable living quarters behind the store. There was mohair furniture in the living room, snowy lace curtains, and pictures in walnut frames on the walls. The kitchen was spacious, with a cupboard, a big stove gleaming with black polish, and a small hand pump to draw water at the sink.

She started to build a fire, and Pace took over the chore. When he turned from the stove, she had slipped into a gingham apron. He watched her as she filled a pot with water and set it on the stove.

He rolled a cigarette, smoked quietly for a few moments, and said, “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

“There isn’t much to tell.”

“What makes you think Gar Testerman sent that man with the corn today? Why would he try to drive you out of business?”

She moved to a chair at the kitchen table near him, sat down, and studied her small, trim hands. She looked up at him after a, time, and, try as she might to keep up a hard-boiled front, she just wasn’t cut out for it. This girl was alone, and frightened, and grateful suddenly for the presence of a fellow human being.

“My father started the store a long time ago,” she said. “He died and left it to my brother and me. My brother — Kyle is his name, Kyle Dinsmore — ran the store for awhile. Then he went away — on a trip East. He was planning to be gone for quite awhile, but I saw no reason why I couldn’t handle things here.

“I hired an elderly man to help, and things went along smoothly enough, until the nesters came.”

She paused to take a breath. “They were a starving lot by the time they got out here in the Territory. They’d had Indian trouble crossing the plains. Their guide had quit them. They’d got snowbound in the mountains passes and almost froze to death. By the time they got here, their stock was depleted, their stomachs and pockets empty. But their troubles were just beginning.

“They filed on the government land north of here. It’s always been considered grazing land, and the cattlemen have used it for years. There were some threats, a little night riding, but the nesters didn’t scare off. When people have reached the point of desperation, they don’t scare easily. There was nothing the homesteaders could do but stay grimly on their claims with their backs to the wall.”

The teakettle began singing. Nancy got up to take it from the stove. She put a few drops of medicine in a bowl, added water, tore a white cloth into strips, and began washing the blood from Pace’s nose. He flinched and his eyes smarted with pain.

“Keep talking,” he said; “and it might take my mind some from this torture.”

“Well, the nesters sold off a few of their remaining possessions to get seed. They put crops in — and that’s where the store enters the picture. I’d agreed to give them credit until harvest time, and it looked finally like they might make the grade.

“My first hint of trouble was in my hired hand quitting. He said two men had broke into his room in the middle of the night, rolled him tight in his quilt, and given him a hard slapping. They’d warned him that it was unhealthy to work for a store that did business with nesters. I hired a second and third man. Each stayed less than a week. The third was found beaten to a pulp behind the saloon. The next morning there was a note tacked to the door of the store, telling me to cut off the nesters’ credit. After that, it was too unlucky for anybody to work here.

“Next thing, two men came into the store. They called themselves Alec Searcy and Jack Penick. They made small purchases and said it was sure tough luck I’d been having, and pointed out how much worse it could get — like a fire, or poison dumped in the flour barrel maybe some night.”

“You go to the sheriff with that?”

“Yes, but it didn’t do much good. He claimed he made a thorough search, but he didn’t find the men and could find no one they worked for. But I’m not sure just what the sheriff meant when he used the word thorough.”

“That dynamite cap the first thing of that kind?”

Nancy nodded. “It proves they’re playing for keeps, doesn’t it? Once the nesters’ supplies are cut off, they’ll have to push on, live off the land, starve their way on to California where they could find work in the mines or in a city.”

“They might be better off,” Pace suggested.

It seemed Nancy was suddenly rough with his nose. “Mr. Jernigan, those are farming people, families, women and children. They came here to make homes and good citizens. They’ve got a right to the land.”

“Well, all right!” Pace said. “But what makes you think Gar Testerman is behind the trouble?”

“A remark Searcy and Penick made in here that day causes me to believe someone in town hired them. And I’ll bet they’re still around, waiting undercover until their boss needs them.”

“They didn’t name Testerman?”

“Noooo... But who else could it be? Testerman heads the local cattleman’s organization. He’s got an interest in two or three ranchs. He controls the transport and most of the buying. If a rancher fails to sell through Testerman, he finds himself undersold until he has to come around. But if homesteaders begin pouring in here, it’s going to change the picture.”

Nancy finished her medicinal operations, stepped back to survey the results. She could still manage a smile at Pace’s appearance.

He touched the tender balloon on his face. “I see what you mean about Testerman being the kind to beat down opposition.” He walked to a wall mirror, looked at himself. “But why don’t the settlers simply sell their claims, go to a healthier climate, and buy land? If Tester-man’s smart as you say, he’d make a deal.”

“They wouldn’t get enough to buy again. They’ve all borrowed on the claims from Oliver Frady. Nope, Texas, this store is the only thing standing between those people and ruin.”

He studied her face for a moment, and knew she felt honor-bound to fulfill her commitment to the nesters. They had put out crops, depending on the store. The trouble in her small, attractive face gave Pace the loco urge to gather her in his arms, cradle her head against his chest, and gnash his teeth at the forces besetting her.

He took a breath in and out to ease the tension in his chest. “You could sell out. Even the nesters couldn’t blame you for that.”

“Can you think of a buyer?”

“I guess not,” he shook his head. “Well,” — he found words coming hard — “thanks for everything.”

She shook hands with him. “My thanks to you, Texas.”

She followed him out of the living quarters, out through the front of the store. At the door he paused. “I wouldn’t ask for high wages.”

An aching desire for human company in her lonely struggle fought for possession of Nancy’s face. Then she shook her head. “If they’ll put a dynamite cap in a girl’s mill, they wouldn’t be above killing a man. I wouldn’t want that to happen to you, Texas.”

She turned quickly before he could say more. Pace fumbled with his hat, put it on, and stepped outside. Dismal twilight was giving way to a dark night as he crossed the road and headed for the creek where he had tethered his tired and hungry horse.

He was dreaming of a brown-haired girl with worry gone from her eyes and laughter claiming her lips, when he came awake in sudden pain. He thrashed in his worn blanket, and the hand gripping his hair smashed his head against the earth. He tried to bring his eyes in focus. Spilled moonlight etched the clearing beside the creek where he had made camp. It revealed a man bending over him and another standing nearby. Pace relaxed. The man released his hair and stood up. Pace’s fingers inched to his saddle, which he’d been using for a pillow, but his gun was gone.

“You’re Pace Jernigan, the Texan who went to work for Nancy Dinsmore today?” the nearest man said.

“Could be,” Pace admitted. “You must be Searcy and Penick.”

The two men exchanged glances and laughed. The nearest man said, “Now ain’t you the bright boy?” He hooked his thumbs in his gunbelt. “I’m Penick, and that’s Searcy all right.”

Jack Penick was short, but built with bull-like power; a brush of red beard covered his face. Alec Searcy was not much taller, but wiry, compact, the quicker of the two men. His face was slender, with a pugnacious chin. The cocksure way he lounged on his feet was enough to make Pace want to take him down a peg or two.

“Since the girl has already told you about us,” Searcy said, “no need explaining we play for keeps.”

“We got a little game in mind,” Penick added, scratching his red beard, “called Texan, Texan, who can find the Texan. In other words, saddle and ride.”

Blind anger took possession of Pace. He bent, but instead of picking up his saddle, his fingers closed over a length of sapling. He laid one on Penick, and stabbed at Searcy before either man could move.

Penick jumped on his back, and Pace jack-knifed him off. Searcy came darting in, gun gleaming in the moonlight. Pace dodged the blow of the gun barrel, knocked Searcy down with a wild swing of the sapling.

The young tree trunk was proving a highly efficient weapon, Pace thought in exultation as he danced toward Penick. He was reasonably sure neither man would pull a trigger. They were too close to town, and gunfire would wake the good burghers. Murder was too serious a business to use as a solution to their chore. If they’d intended to kill, they would have done it silently, while he slept.

He wiped to the bleeding quick a spot of Penick’s red bush, and the man tumbled. Then Searcy came in fast. At close quarters, the sapling wasn’t much good. And Pace’s free fist was no match for Searcy’s whipping gun. The first blow raked Pace’s head. He stumbled, and Penick rejoined the fray.

The whistling sapling kept them at bay another few moments; then the agile Searcy got beneath the club again, tripped Pace, and they fell together.

Penick’s bootheel ground against Pace’s hand, and the sapling fell away. Then Penick used the toe of the boot against Pace’s jaw. The blow paralyzed his senses. Pace knew what was going on, but he couldn’t do anything about it. They used him for a punching bag, and it seemed considerable time passed before the blessing of unconsciousness wiped away the pain.

With the advent of the morning sun, a dusty, blood-caked caricature of a man maintained his precarious, rolling position astride a dun horse by holding the saddle horn. The man managed to knee-rein the horse around to the rear of the Fairfax town general store; then the man came loose from the saddle and staggered toward the rear. Before he could knock, the door was jerked open.

Nancy Dinsmore stared with wide eyes. “Pace! What happened to you?”

“Met your loco mavericks, Penick and Searcy.”

She caught his arm, helped him inside. “They thought I was working for you,” he said.

Her lips thinned. “Testerman again. I had to say that yesterday in the sheriff’s office.”

“It looks like you’re right. Testerman — or somebody who heard from him or the sheriff that you had a new hand.”

The talk spent him. He was content to do nothing but groan into a chair and let the girl bring hot coffee to his lips.

“Texas,” she said, a sudden break in her voice, “why’d you have to be unlucky enough to stop here?”

He looked at her and a grin came to his stiff lips. “Luckiest man alive,” he said, “hearing that concern in your voice.”

She turned her face. “Don’t go courting me, Texas.”

“Any law against it?”

“No, but there are things you don’t know about me.”

He touched her chin, turned her face toward his. “Not married?”

“No.”

“Ain’t got a fellow?”

“No.”

“Then I’m a candidate. And I know all I need to about you, so let’s leave the matter there.”

She bit her lower lip, and for the second time in twenty-four hours her fingers were gentle as she doctored his face.

Sleep is nature’s own medicine, Pace thought, awakening in early afternoon. He was still stiff and sore in spots, but confidence and a clarity of mind had returned. He dressed in the bedroom Nancy told him had been Kyle Dinsmore’s.

Out in the kitchen, he found that she had left food for him in the stove warmer. As he ate, he heard someone enter the store, a man’s voice, then Nancy’s.

Pace slid over to the door that opened into the store. It was slightly open, and he saw Nancy’s caller, though she was beyond his line of vision.

From her greeting, Pace knew the man was Oliver Frady, the saloon owner she’d mentioned. Oliver was a big man, the kind who looked sloppy no matter what the cost of his clothes. He was short, fat, and bald, and sweating like a greased pig. Pace guessed that the heat always bothered Frady.

Oliver wiped his face with practiced motions of a bandanna. He was speaking earnestly: “I heard your mill got ruined. Wanted to come over, but haven’t had the chance. Busy in the saloon. Girl, why don’t you sell this place?”

From Nancy’s silence, Pace guessed the prospect was attractive.

Oliver stuffed his bandanna in his pocket and lighted a thin pantella. The smoke wreathed about his head. “You know you can’t go on here, girl. Not and give those nesters credit.”

“I can’t go on and refuse them either, Oliver.”

He nodded. “I know you feel that way. And I don’t blame you for refusing to let a bunch of toughs dictate how to run your business and interfere in your life. But there’s even more than just you and the nesters at stake. There’s Oliver Frady himself. I’ve loaned those people money on their claims. If you get burnt out here or shut up, the nesters move on. No crops, no money, no pay mortgages.”

Pace studied the man. Instinctively, he distrusted the small eyes in the fat face, the quick shifting of the small, restless hands. But Pace told himself you couldn’t always judge a man as if you were sitting across a gambling table from him.

Nancy walked around the counter into view. As her gaze was turned away, Oliver’s eyes narrowed on her back, and a thin smile touched his thick lips.

He let his face become gelid once more as she faced him.

“Who’d buy the store, Oliver?” she asked.

“I would.”

“The store means a lot to me. My father’s sweat and dreams went into this place.”

“All the more reason you should sell. A lone girl can’t win, Nancy. But a man could do a different job. If I buy the place and keep the nesters in credit for awhile, I’ll get my money back. Otherwise, I’ll have a pile of mortgages to foreclose, and I’m not one to try to farm that land or run cattle on it.”

That made sense, Pace conceded to himself. But something about Oliver’s offer made him wary. The man was pressing too hard. As store owner, he’d really have the nesters where it hurt.

“I’ll have to think about it, Oliver,” Nancy said slowly.

“What is there to think about, girl? You may not be in business here another week. I can’t wait until there’s nothing left but foundation stones. It seems to me—”

Pace walked out into the store. Oliver and Nancy turned to look at him.

Nancy asked how he was feeling. “Much better,” Pace said.

Nancy introduced him to Oliver. Pace took the soft, sweating hand in his. Oliver clucked his tongue. “Get caught in Nancy’s corn grinder?” he asked with an attempt of humor to cover his irritation at having his conversation with Nancy interrupted.

Oliver picked up a floppy hat from the counter, placed it on his head. “Think over what I said, Nancy. Glad to have met you, Jernigan.”

Frady went out, moving with surprising speed and firmness of stride for so fat a man.

Pace watched Oliver cross the street, enter the false-fronted building that bore the legend: The Even Chance, Beer and Liquors.

“You’ve known Frady long?”

“Several years,” Nancy said, “since he opened here.”

“You don’t exactly trust him.”

Nancy looked at him quickly. He said “The store is dear to you. You hate to think of it falling into his hands. Why?”

She shrugged. “Just something he did sometime ago in partnership with another man.”

“Ever think he might be bossing Searcy and Penick?”

She looked at him quickly.

“One of your helpers,” Pace reminded, “was found beaten behind his saloon. Could it have happened there and someone come along before they’d had a chance to move the man? And you mentioned that Sheriff Bigby Barnes plays a lot of pinochle over there. Men talk in pastime card games, especially the sheriff’s type. Could be that Frady thought I was working for you because Barnes mentioned it after I was jailed yesterday. Then Frady sends out Searcy and Penick to send me on my way.”

Nancy shook her head slowly. “But why would Oliver want the nesters gone? True, he’d get the land on foreclosure, but he doesn’t want that. He wants the interest on his money.”

“Maybe you’re right. But I think Frady and Gar Testerman both bear watching.”

“Meantime, Texas, we’ve got a grocery order to get together.”

“Nester supplies?”

She nodded.

“Then I’ll start work by riding with you.” He grinned. “Craziest job I ever heard of — riding shotgun guard on a sack of groceries.”

Bigby Barnes strolled up as Pace finished loading the wagon. The sheriff watched a few minutes. “Figure to use that shotgun?”

“If I have to. Any objections?”

“Don’t like trouble in my bailiwick.”

“There’s one way of stopping it.”

“Yeah?”

“Get some proof on that mill explosion. Find two men named Alec Searcy and Jack Penick. Jail them on charges of assault.”

“They did that to you?” Bigby nodded toward Pace’s puffed cheek and gashed jaw.

“I’ll sign the warrants,” Pace nodded.

“Well,” Bigby sighed, “I’ll scout around. Didn’t much believe there was any two such men. Not natives around here.”

Pace felt high impatience with the sheriff. Luckily, such men were few and far between, in law enforcement. The sheriff was too lazy, too filled with the indolent man’s good humor to take his job seriously. Anything that’s done, Pace thought, we’ll have to do ourselves.