Talon & Chantry 07 - North To The Rails (v5.0) by Louis L’Amour Page B

Chantry stretched out once more on the bed. They would not try again—not right away. Hands clasped behind his head, he tried to put things together to make sense.
    Out there in the woods the girl had said, “I want French to have those cattle. Then there’ll be just one man.”
    One man? For what? And why did she want French to have the cattle?
    He thought and thought, but found no answers, and presently he fell asleep.
    Across the street, in the upstairs office, Sarah looked at Paul with disgust. “You fool! Now everybody will know somebody is trying to kill him.”
    “They’ll believe it was French, or that other man we heard about…Koch.”
    She was silent for a few minutes, and then she said, “We’ve got to stay out of sight, Paul. So you leave town. Now.”
    “In this rain?”
    “They’ve seen you, Paul. They caught a glimpse of you, anyway. Go up the trail of the cattle. You can be sure Chantry will be coming along, and you can kill him then. But this time don’t make a mess of it. Take your time and be sure you get him. Ten thousand dollars may not be all the money in the world, but it is all we’re likely to have.”
    Paul went to the door and peered out. The night was veiled with rain.
    “All right,” he agreed reluctantly, “I know where there’s a shack up the line. I’ll stop there.” He paused for a moment. “What about you?”
    “They know nothing about me. I am just here visiting Webb Taylor and getting some legal advice. You go ahead—and be careful that nobody sees you.”
    Paul opened the door quickly and went down the stairs, turning at the foot of the steps to walk back to the barn where he had left his horse.
    At the back of the building next door and some thirty yards away there were several old boxes and barrels. Crouching among them, and sheltered from the rain, Mobile Callahan, gambler, cowhand, and drifter, watched him go, and looking through the open door of the barn, he saw him lead his horse to the door.
    Paul was a slender man about five feet ten, weighing perhaps a hundred and fifty pounds, give or take a few. He wore two belt guns and there was a rifle in the scabbard on his saddle. This horse, too, was from Hazelton’s place.
    Mobile watched him go, and when he heard the hoofbeats die out, he studied the rooms in the building opposite. There was a lamp lighted now, and occasionally somebody moved back and forth between the light and the window.
    After a few minutes he got up and walked back to the hotel. Sparrow was waiting in the lobby.
    Mobile told him what he had seen, and Sparrow considered it. Taking two cigars from his pocket, he offered Mobile one of them, then bit the end from the other.
    “Mobile,” he said slowly, “I’ve heard it said around the cow camps that you’re a good man with a gun.”
    “That’s a reputation I never hunted, Mr. Sparrow, and it’s one I don’t want.”
    “I understand that. I don’t want just a gun. I want a man with judgment, and you always had that. I want you to ride up the trail and see that Chantry stays alive.”
    “He’s already got one man. He’s got Bone McCarthy working for him.”
    “How do you know that?”
    “I saw Bone a while back. He was askin’ questions around. I just put two and two together.”
    “Just the same, I want you to help Chantry get through. I’ll pay you two hundred and fifty dollars to stay with him to the railhead.”
    Mobile drew on his cigar, and looked at Sparrow. He had known Sparrow for going on eight years, and had never known the man to make a foolish or an unnecessary move. “What’s your stake in this?” he asked. “Two hundred and fifty dollars—that’s seven, eight months’ wages for a top hand.”
    “I have my reasons.” Sparrow got to his feet. “You do that, Mobile. I don’t want you to get yourself killed, just be around a little while. I think Tom Chantry is riding into more trouble than he can handle. He’s a good man. Maybe as good a man as his father