Wanted: Dead or Alive Read online

  “We’ve tried,” the girl said. “It’s been terribly hard and now we’re getting down to where matters are critical. We’ve only about three hundred steers left and we need to sell off at least fifty of them to pay our bill at the general store and buy other things we must have. Our plan was to drive the stock over to the Box-B, that’s Bern Pogue’s ranch this week.”

  “You’re selling your beef to another rancher?”

  Roxanne’s lips tightened into a small smile. “Only choice we have. Mounting a drive to the railhead is out of the question … we haven’t the crew and chances are the night riders would never let us get out of the valley. Pogue’s ranch is only a couple of days away and most of the time we’ll be on our own range.”

  “Who’d be moving the cattle for you?”

  “Just Clint and I. Renzo can look after the place.”

  Lockett frowned. “Now, with your brother laid up …?”

  “I’m not sure what we can do. I’ll try to figure out something else … another way.”

  If it was not a hard drive, why couldn’t Renzo Clark handle it? Dade wondered, but kept the question to himself. There evidently was a good reason. “How much does Pogue give you for your beef?”

  “Ten dollars a head.”

  “Ten! The market’s paying seventeen … maybe even eighteen by now for prime stock.”

  “I know, but that’s for cattle driven to the shipping point. We can’t do it that way … and ten dollars is better than nothing at all.”

  Clark stirred wearily. “And I’m wondering now if we’ll even get the chance to deal with Pogue, seeing as how them masked critters are hanging around.”

  “This the first time they’ve hit you?”

  “Not the first time … just the first time lately. Been about three months since they rode in, called out Roxie and Clint, and give them a warning.”

  “Told us that we had better move on or we’d find ourselves in a lot of trouble,” Roxie put in.

  “Didn’t they tell you who you had to sell out to?”

  “No, just that we’d better go, and hinted if we didn’t, we’d end up like Father did.”

  “Roxie …!”

  At her brother’s call the girl rose hurriedly, crossed to the bedroom, and disappeared into its dark interior. Renzo Clark watched her with doleful eyes. “Sure is too bad,” he murmured. “Them two youngsters have worked mighty hard to keep this place going. It’s all they got in the world and it’ll be a powerful shame if they lose it.”

  “They’d have a pretty fair shake if they sold out to this Grosinger or one of the others, wouldn’t they?”

  “Now, I don’t figure any of them wanting it will pay much. They’ll try to steal it, and if the Rakers are put down tight in a bind, they’ll be able to. But I’m suspecting that’s the way it’ll end up, no matter what. With them flour-sack-wearing skunks moving in like they’ve done, and meaning business for sure this time … and with nobody to drive them cows over to Pogue’s so’s they can raise a little cash, I reckon they’re done for.”

  “No … maybe not,” Roxie said, coming from the bedroom. She was smiling and there was a brightness in her eyes. “Clint was listening to us talk and came up with an idea.”

  The old cowpuncher scowled, heaved himself half out of his chair. “Now, missy, you ain’t thinking of doing it you …?”

  “No … someone else. Instead of selling only fifty head to Bern Pogue, we’ll sell him fifty-five and give the extra fifty dollars to Dade for driving them for us.”

  V

  Renzo, grinning broadly, turned to Lockett. “Now, that’s right good thinking! And good pay … fifty dollars for a couple of days’ work.”

  Dade felt Roxie’s eyes upon him, anxious, imploring. He shook his head. “Hate saying this but I’ve got to be riding on.”

  There was a long moment of silence broken finally by Clark. “You must be in a powerful lot of hurry.”

  “Just what I am.”

  Roxanne settled into her chair. “Would two or three days make such a difference in where you’re going?”

  “Could. Been hunting a fellow for quite a spell. Got word he was around Tucson. I fool away time getting there he just might be gone.”

  “I see,” she murmured dispiritedly.

  Lockett rolled another cigarette. He would like to help the Rakers—and help was something they really needed. But even before he started the quest for Pete Dillard—while he was still behind prison walls in fact—he had made a vow to himself that he would let nothing interfere in the search, once begun, and so far he had not broken that promise. Nor would he now, even for a girl like Roxanne Raker. It would be his kind of luck that, should he delay a couple of days, he’d reach Tucson and discover that Dillard had been there but pulled out for parts unknown only the night before.

  “I guess that leaves us with only one answer,” Roxie said. “I’ll drive the stock to Pogue’s myself. We have to get that money.”

  Clark wagged his head violently. “You ain’t doing no such a thing! You know them raiders’d love to catch you out there alone.”

  “Maybe they won’t notice.”

  “Way they been eagle-eyeing this place? They’d know and plenty quick.” Renzo paused, slapped at his legs. “Sure wish’t my riding days wasn’t done … I’d run them cows over to Pogue’s for you sooner’n soon. Can’t set a saddle no more,” he added, shifting his glance to Dade. “Bronc’ busted me up something fierce a couple of years back. Ain’t been much account since.”

  That answered a question that had puzzled Lockett earlier. He nodded his understanding. “One thing I can do, when I get to Mule Springs, I’ll hire a ’puncher for you, send him right back.”

  “Not much chance of that,” the girl said. “We’ve tried before to get help but men are afraid to work for us.”

  “Was one, last year, that figured he wasn’t going to get scared out by the night riders,” Renzo recalled. “He changed his mind, I reckon. Went out on the range that first morning, never did come back. Heard later he stopped in town long enough to wet his whistle at the Muleshoe Saloon, then lit out. Didn’t even wait around to collect his day’s pay.”

  Lockett stirred impatiently. Nothing seemed to work for the Rakers—they were hard-luck plagued, it seemed. “What about the law … the sheriff of the county, I mean, not a town marshal. You ever go see him, tell him what’s going on?”

  “Sure did,” Clark replied. “Me and Clint made a trip over in the buckboard to the county seat once. About all we got out of it was the ride. Said unless he could catch them red-handed a-doing it, masks and all, wasn’t anything he could do about it.”

  “If he’d come around and spend a little time here with you, or maybe send a deputy …?”

  “We can’t blame him,” Roxie said, rising. “He has to look after a lot of territory and …”

  “Rats!” Renzo snorted. “He’s been told to keep his nose out of it, that’s what, and being a big politicker that’s what he’ll do.”

  The girl said no more, began to collect the dishes, carry them to the work table near the stove, and place them in a deep pan. After a bit she turned to Dade. “I’m sorry we’ve burdened you with our trouble. We had no right … and we are grateful for what you’ve done. Are you riding on tonight?”

  Lockett got to his feet, gave it some thought. “No big need. Can stay till morning in case those night riders pay you another call.”

  “I’ve thought of that and, if you would stay, I’d appreciate it. There’s plenty of room in the bunkhouse.”

  “I’m the one that’s obliged. Sleeping under a roof’ll be a pleasure. Expect I’d best be seeing to my horse first, however.”

  She nodded, forced another small smile. “You’ll find feed in the barn. Renzo will show you. Good night.”

  “’Night,” Lockett said, and moved
toward the door with Clark shambling off ahead of him.

  The chestnut was standing patiently where he had been ground reined. Taking up the leathers, Dade waited patiently while Renzo collected the abandoned rifle and shotgun, and then, following the old cowhand, he led the gelding around the house and across the cleared yard to the bulky structure at its lower end. Halting in the doorway, he delayed until Clark had struck a match to the wick of a lantern hanging just inside, and then stabled the horse in the first empty stall. While he stripped his gear, Renzo forked fresh hay into the manger and dumped a quart can of grain into the side box.

  “Reckon that’ll hold him until morning,” the old man said, stepping back and watching Dade untie his blanket roll from its place on the saddle.

  “Be needing watering later.”

  “Bucket out there at the well. Just help yourself,” Clark said, and, returning to the doorway, crossed to the small log hut Charley Raker had built for cowhands he was never able to hire.

  Firing a match, Renzo lit a wall lamp placed just inside the entrance, another on a table in the center of the room.

  “It ain’t much, but it’s home,” the oldster said, grinning as he made a sweeping motion with his hand.

  There were several bunks built against the walls and besides the one table, there were two chairs and a washstand above which was suspended a square of mirror.

  “Anybody ever use this but you?” Dade asked.

  “Been a couple others … a time ago. Just pick yourself a bed anywheres … excepting that one next to the window. It’s mine. Gets a mite hot here, come July and August and a man has to sleep close to fresh air.”

  Lockett tossed his blanket onto the one on the opposite side of the dusty glass, swore quietly. “Just too bad things are working out wrong for the Rakers. Mighty hard on them, too, ’specially the girl.”

  “For sure,” Renzo said, settling onto his bunk. “Little gal was used to lots more … nice quiet home, gentle folks, church socials, things like that. Clint was, too, but it ain’t so tough on him, being a man.”

  “No, wouldn’t be. That name of hers … Roxanne, it sure is a fancy one. Don’t much fit this part of the country. Where’d she ever get it?”

  “Was her ma’s idea, I heard tell. Seems she was a book-reading woman. Got the name from a story about a fellow with a long nose.”

  Lockett stared at the older man. “Long nose?”

  Renzo shrugged. “What I heard. You’d best ask her about it if you want to know more. Anyway, hardly anybody ’cepting her pa ever called her Roxanne. Most folks just say Roxie.”

  “That’s a lot better-sounding,” Dade said. Far off in the distance a coyote yapped into the clear moonlight. He listened until the bark died, eyes reaching through the open window into the night. “This Charley Raker picked a fine place,” he said absently. “Could be made into a real fine ranch.”

  “For certain!” Renzo declared quickly. “All them two youngsters are needing is a little help from somebody with enough sand to stand by them and buck Grosinger and his bunch. You dead sure there ain’t no chance of you hanging around for maybe a week or so?”

  Dade nodded. “Not even for a day.”

  Clark leaned back, disappointment sagging his cheeks, dulling his faded eyes. “Must be something mighty important if it’ll keep you from helping them youngsters get tromped under by the likes of Gros—”

  “It is to me,” Lockett interrupted coolly. “Man I’m about to catch up with owes me plenty. Has for three years now, and I aim to collect. Nothing’s going to keep me from it.”

  Renzo studied Dade thoughtfully in the yellow glow of the lamps, not missing the grim set of his jaw, the hard, unrelenting planes of his face. “I’m sort’ve getting the idea,” he said slowly. “It ain’t only money you’re meaning to collect.”

  Dade Lockett shrugged, got to his feet. “Takes more than cash to pay a man for two years of his life,” he said, and began to unroll his blanket.

  * * * * *

  Roxanne, without conscious thought, lifted the kettle of steaming water from the stove and poured its contents into the pan of supper dishes. Outside, she could hear Dade Lockett and Renzo moving about in the yard, their boot heels beating a hollow tattoo on the hard ground. After a few moments that sound died and she guessed they were on their way to the barn. It was hot inside the house with everything closed, and, crossing to the nearest window, she opened the shutter and raised the sash. Breathing in the cool, fresh air, she stood there looking out into the silver-shot night. As if touched by magic all things had changed; the harshness of the day was gone and in the pale glow the land and all upon it now appeared soft-edged and gentle, and friendly. But reality was still there, and the world was her enemy in daylight or dark. She leaned forward, rested her head upon the window’s frame. For her—she who had once possessed such fine dreams, who had hoped for so much—there was no escape. She was doomed to a slavish existence, a drudge in a savage creation that broke women before their prime, and brutalized men beyond all belief. Worse, hers was a dual role, for she was both woman and man in a household with none of the advantages of each and all the burdens of both.

  Dade Lockett had offered the first good possibilities she’d known since the day of her father’s death and she had been compelled to shoulder the responsibilities of the ranch, but he had turned out to be like all the others, so totally wrapped up in his own troubles that he had no room for others. But that was natural, and human, she supposed. This was far different from the way it was back home. There, if a person needed help, he got it almost without asking. Of course, their way of life was not the same; things were not so vitally important and it was simply a matter of living graciously rather than waging a constant battle for survival. And poor, bewildered Clint, it had been too much for him from the start. Lying in there now with a bullet wound in his leg, he would have reached the end of his wits. He hadn’t wanted to move West when their father had sent for them, had, in fact, done everything possible to get out of it. But he had been only fifteen at the time, and so had been given no choice other than to make the journey with her to join their father on the ranch.

  Ranch. Roxie’s nose wrinkled slightly at the word. Ranch, indeed! It had been a total disappointment, far, far less than they had been led to expect from their father’s letters. Why, she knew sharecroppers back home who lived better and in more comfortable surroundings than this! Abruptly it came to her; it wasn’t worth fighting for. She didn’t know why she hadn’t realized that before; why had it taken a bullet in Clint’s leg and the flat refusal to help of a tall, hard-visaged stranger called Lockett to make her see it? But, no matter, that was it. She was finished, done. Clint would agree, would welcome the idea. Renzo, of course, would object, but after all what Renzo wanted or didn’t want wasn’t important. It was their life—hers and Clint’s that mattered.

  Tomorrow she would ride over and talk to John Grosinger, find out what he would pay to get them to pack up and leave, turn everything over to him. His men wouldn’t stop her once they knew the nature of her errand. After she knew what he would pay, she’d talk with Ed Cushman, get his offer. And then she’d take the best. Men did things that way, played one against the other. There was no good reason why she couldn’t do as they did.

  VI

  Breakfast that morning was a quiet, polite affair. Roxie had little to say and Renzo Clark’s words were gruff and to the point. In reply to Dade’s inquiry concerning her brother, the girl said only that he was doing all right.

  Finished, Lockett expressed his thanks for the meal, went immediately to the barn, and began to saddle and bridle the chestnut. He would have liked to pay for the food he had eaten as well as for the gelding’s keep but knew that despite the Rakers’ reduced circumstances, to have offered would have been taken as an insult.

  “You ain’t changed your mind none, have you?”

  At
Renzo’s question, Lockett glanced around. The old cowpuncher was standing in the doorway, chewing on a match.

  Dade shook his head. “Can’t do it. Maybe I’d like to, but what I’ve got to do for myself is more important to me than anything else.”

  Clark spat the sliver of wood aside. “Didn’t figure you had but reckoned I ought to ask. You still aiming to go by Mule Springs?”

  Lockett nodded.

  “And you’re still planning on trying to hire us a hand?”

  “Going to do what I can.”

  “Well, I’m obliged but I ain’t putting much hopes in it. Mighty hard to find a man around here that can’t be scared off.”

  Lockett said, “Seems so,” and ignored the possibility that the old cowhand was referring obliquely to him and such was the basis for his refusal of the job. The chestnut ready, he led him into the yard, started to mount, paused. It was only good manners to thank the girl again. Continuing on, he circled the house to the front, aware that Renzo was following silently.

  Stepping up to the door, Dade knocked lightly. It opened at once and Roxie faced him. A flare of hope brightened her eyes, and then faded as quickly.

  “Just want to say thanks again for the meals and the bed. Was right nice of you.”

  The girl nodded woodenly. Her lips parted to speak, closed as the quick beat of a running horse sounded across the morning’s quiet. Lockett turned swiftly, hand dropping to the weapon on his hip.

  “It’s only Cushman,” he heard Renzo Clark mutter.

  The rancher rode in close, nodded curtly to the old cowhand, gave Lockett a quick, suspicious raking with his small eyes, and placed his attention on Roxie. He was a stockily built man with a head of brick red hair that hung well below the wide-brimmed hat he was wearing. “Heard what happened here last night,” he said. “A shame … a mighty big shame! They do any big harm?”

  “Clint was shot in the leg but he’ll be all right. We were lucky that Mister Lockett happened by at just the right time and drove them off.”